Crack of the Other Side
by Spider Milkshake
Summary: The Fracciónes of Sexta Grimmjow Jaegarjaques engage in their boring lives (or are they?). Grimm's boys are in for a lot of weirdness and crack. WARNING: AU, OCs, and other unusual factors play in. ALSO WARNING: EXTREME VIOLENT SITUATIONS. IF YA KNOW BLEACH YOU KNOW WHAT TO EXPECT. (BLOOD. LOTS OF IT.)
1. Ilfort's Confusion

The Crack of the Other Side

Alternate universes are weird.

In some, those who you would be sure are completely respectful and self-controlled lads and lasses are actually quite... rape-y...

In others, the kind-hearted are nasty and the nasty are nice and give money to charities for puppies with cancer. There's even one particular mind-f%*$ingly confusing one where Head Captain Kenpachi Unohana had made peace with the Arrancar Lord Arturo Plateado in the year 304 A.D. and there hadn't been any wars between the two societies since. And then there was that one where all the Arrancar were Soul Reapers and all the Soul Reapers were Arrancar. Oh, and there were over five hundred thousand Quincys still living.

Thankfully for any inter-dimensional travelers from the universe we are all familiar with, this particular alternate one is decidedly less different from ours. Some people are kinder or harsher, others who were once calm and passive are loud and aggressive, or vice versa. But there's no gender-bending, no age-swapping, no ancient event that completely rewrote history as we know it. The only thing that comes close is Sosuke Aizen's slight alteration to his Soul Reaper-y-ness...

He isn't one at all here-an Arrancar instead. Former Espada, actually, once a Quinta before he was replaced by Nnoitora Gilga (which turned out to be a set-up... Nnoitora was in on it along with Neliel Tu Oderschvank...). But, obviously, still the same cunning and vile bastard we all love to hate...

Others, however, are changed in more subtle ways. Some for the worse, and others for the better...

* * *

#1: Ilfort Resists Illogical Attraction To Murderous Soul Reaper Lady (Poorly)

* * *

Even the moon looked frosted. Its bulging presence in the darkened sky sunk farther into a bank of zebrastripe clouds. The night wore on but the friction of time sulking by made no heat. The silver quartz dunes that the night sky orb eventually sank behind were ice sculptures made by wind and old action of spring and fall floods.

Hueco Mundo was asleep, or perhaps frozen to death.

Though it cast a black and frigid shadow, the giant edifice of the Arrancar capital city gave off a somewhat warmer image. Snow marble walls gave pinpricks of yellowed light out myriad windows. The five towers which flanked the main domed square snuggled up to its sides. Six smaller watch towers stood in the center of the height of the dome. Another glow was sourced here. A Soldado Fracción on guard duty no doubt.

Ilfort's Nordic features did nothing to adapt him any better to the current weather. He slumped in his seat against the back-lit wall of the third tower, clasping one knee to his chest and sitting on the other one. He was in no danger of freezing, but he was uncomfortable all the same. He even tried wrapping his flowing golden hair about his neck, but he was no fox. It made a very poor scarf.

The hot chocolate Rebecca had brought him helped, but that was long gone. What remained was a solid droplet of sepia on the bottom of the mug he'd set aside. Only three more hours and he could dive into the heated hall-streets, the warmed rooms, or perhaps a hazy bar on the lower levels with the rest of his Sexta Fracción buddies. If they were still awake.

He blew a sigh which morphed into a cloud that swirled around his head, ringing his horn on his partial mask. The fragment was keeping some of the heat on his head at least. That was one use for the permanent scar of a mask.

Another was to keep his head from rolling against the smooth walls. He propped himself against the horn, pointing himself to the west. No one could say he wasn't watching now. Just three hours until the end of his watch. Then he could spend twice as long in the intoxicating heat indoors. Just three more...

So slow was the progress of his cunning eyelids that he didn't even take note when they captured his orange-amber eyes. His nerves listed in and out of the ability to complain about the cold to his brain. In a doze, Ilfort half-thought that he imagined light footsteps near him.

Someone had put a small hand on his mask remnant. The drowsy Arrancar shuffled, tucking his face down into the crook of the arm holding his leg close. Whoever it was was tiny-so not his Espada or anyone who could report to him. Probably a kid, one of the "orphan" Arrancar who had come out of their existence as Hollows with the bodies and minds of children younger than ten. The "orphans" were kept in an area on the second to top floor and educated until they mentally matured, which took about as long as it would were they alive. But their minds would outrace their bodies, which aged somewhere between one year for every eighty to one for every eight hundred (depending on the Arrancar).

"Get off my head." Ilfort failed at opening an eye to see which of the orphans was groping him. Probably a very young one from the weight of the hand.

And they weren't obedient either. The hand not only stayed, but felt its way over to his horn and grasped it. There was a sharp intake of breath and a small push from the end of the horn.

"It's sharp. So let go of it," the Soldado grumbled. _They better not bleed on me_, he thought.

"What... Are you..?"

The surprise managed to crack one of his eyes. He caught a blurred image of someone short with dark brown hair spilling onto their shoulders leaning over him. The voice wasn't a child's, it was a woman's. The Arrancar sat up and pawed at his eyes to clear the gunk from them, then sniffed and looked on his visitor with half-opened eyes.

"What am I?" Ilfort blinked and stifled a yawn, "What do you think I...Who are you?"

"I asked first," she said. Ilfort now had a better picture of her. She was very short, barely taller than him standing while he sat in his low chair. Her hair was mostly in her face, and in the dark her eyes were a light color but what hue exactly he couldn't tell. She had no deformities or permanent marks from her Arrancar rebirth that he could see, and she was dressed in a foreign style of black with a white-

_Oh._

Ilfort peered down at her waist. Sure enough, there was a zanpakuto hanging there, its sheath a dark purple in color and the handle slightly more curved than was normal for a katana. She noted where his gaze was pointed and stood back with a cold frown.

"Pervert."

"What?" Ilfort snapped back to her scowling face, his own eyes beginning to resemble a wakeful person's. He stood shakily from his seat by the wall and took one staggering step to balance himself. She was dwarfed by him, barely coming up over his...waist.

_Try not to think dirty thoughts_, he thought. _She already thinks you're a creep. Don't think dirty thoughts now and prove her right!_

_ Wait a minute, why am I worried about what a Soul Reaper thinks? They're my enemies! She's probably here to cut some random Arrancar rube's head off anyway..._

"Do you know where you are, girl?" he chuckled. She took another step back, as if calculating his next move, and calculating them all as "he's definitely going to suddenly lunge at me", "Las Noches. Arrancar Central. Kind of like Central 46, but with fewer successful break-ins."

"That's not funny," the woman growled. Her delicate, tiny hand brushed against the hilt of her sword.

"I know it's not. Our traitor did it." Ilfort frowned as well, "As well as about a dozen of our historical badasses."

"I'm not here to talk about history," she interrupted, her blade escaping from the confining scabbard with a shimmer of metal. "I came here for one purpose and one purpose only. I am a Soul Reaper, I purify Hollows." She held her sword our and pointed it at Ilfort's chest, "With this, Yukihyo."

Now it was Ilfort's turn to step back, but he hit the wall at an awkward angle and had to save himself by grabbing onto the arm of his vacant chair. When he looked up again a blade was flying at his face.

The now curved blade of Yukihyo buried itself in the stone the tower was constructed of. Ilfort buzzed back into view some meters further along the walkway, a startled look across his face. He had not expected her to flat out assault him, especially before he was ready.

The woman turned, a wave of her hand calling the autonomous weapon back to her. It now had a sleek black haft, and a slight dark violet glow about it. It was like a scythe had had it's blade removed and had it repositioned like a spear's head on the end. Her hair fluttered in the wind kicked up by the awesome weapon flying back to her.

_She looks amazing..._

Again the crooked edge came flying straight for him. Just as unprepared as before, Ilfort had to dive to the floor to avoid it striking him in the throat. He felt the slight tug of one hair being severed.

_That's pretty amazing too..._

_Wait, wait, wait, wait! Brother-she's trying to _kill _you! Wake up!_

The Soul Reaper gave a grim smile as she leaped and landed over top of Ilfort's prone form. Now he had nowhere to go. She called her zanpakuto back to her once again.

Ilfort rolled onto his back, eyes wide as the weapon sought out its master's hand again. The Arrancar could not help but be paralyzed by the awkwardness here.

_She's...straddling me..._

"Umm..." Ilfort tried to sit up slightly, wriggling in an attempt to get free. The woman stopped him by lowering the Shikai to his throat. He continued staring up at her oddly, "Wait a second..! I'm not a Hollow!"

The woman's final strike faltered as she pulled her zanpakuto back right before it sliced into her prisoner.

"What?"

"I said, I'm not a Hollow," he repeated, putting his hands up to push the point of her blade away. "I'm an Arrancar, not a Hollow."

"...What's an Arrancar?" She was bowled over by the new information. "I was sent here to purify any Hollows on this landmark. If you're not a Hollow, then where are the Hollows that're supposed to be here?"

"There's no Hollows..." Ilfort grunted, wriggling more to get out from under the Soul Reaper, "There's only Arrancar. Can't you sense anything different?"

The girl paused, staring upwards into space for a few seconds. Ilfort let her, without taking advantage of her distraction. He wasn't sure why not. He was busy staring as well, but at the girl herself.

"Nice try," the Soul Reaper said darkly, glaring down at him as if cheated. "You have all the same stench as any other Hollow I've faced. The only difference is that I can see your ugly face."

_Ugly? Me? Man, I thought I was okay looking. Does she really think I'm ugly? _Ilfort shrunk back against the floor, away from the woman's zanpakuto that was back tickling his neck. _Wait, hold on, more important-She can't tell the difference between Hollows and Arrancar... Oh_, scheisse!

The Soul Reaper held the haft of her weapon ready, then drew it back in preparation of beheading her pinned opponent. Except that Ilfort wasn't so much pinned as he was awkwardly going along with her desire to straddle his middle. He hadn't minded too much, aside from the murderous intent part...

A noisy clang as the zanpakuto bit into the floor where Ilfort had once been alerted her to the fact that her quarry had escaped. She stood up and peered all around, breathing increased and nerves on edge. She didn't see him. It was as if he had disappeared.

Up on the roof of the tower, Ilfort sat down and held his head in both hands, trying to psyche himself up for reasons he didn't quite follow.

_Why do I feel so weird? Why would you just sit there with a Soul Reaper on top of you, you fool! Get it together! Come on, remember! It came so easily a few hours ago! What to do, how to avoid getting shanked here. How strong is she based on the distance and impact of her Shikai strikes, come on. Think, Brother..._

Ilfort leaned over the edge of the tower. She was there, not knowing that her target was looking down on the top of her head. His eyes softened from the ferocious focus they had worked themselves into.

_Wow, even her roots are pretty... Look at how she moves when she uses flash step... Gorgeous... HOLD UP, NO. NO MORE OF THAT. Back to work. Figure out a weakness. Ambush her. What is something I can use? Her Shikai, what else does it do? What else _could_ it do? I've got to be careful... Some zanpakuto can kill the hell out of someone much stronger than their owner just because... _

Ilfort shifted, putting a reluctant hand on the hilt of Del Toro. A loose gravel from on top of the tower was disturbed by one of his knees, and tipped in slow motion over the precipice.

_Doink!_

"Ow!" The woman looked up as she clapped a hand to the top of her head. Ilfort winced.

"S-sorry," he called down to her. _Schiesse, you idiot_.

Wisps of dust flew back as she barreled toward him. As he watched her approach he realized he didn't have to worry too much about her killing him. Her flash step was well-trained, but slow enough that he could track her with his eyes instead of relying on Pesquisa. It wasn't slow for a seated officer in the lower ranks, but Ilfort's strength was not equivocal to that. Not even close. He came right up the tip of the third seat margin, possibly a weak Lieutenant. This girl was no Lieutenant...

He now had to worry about not her killing him, but him killing her. Which he knew he could, but for some reason he found himself not wanting to.

_Why not, you idiot! She is a _Soul Reaper! _Think about all the random Arrancar she's probably killed while on her missions in the boonies here! If she gets sent to Hueco Mundo then she has definitely been ordered to kill Arrancar! She's a _murderer! _Genocide, man, think of the _genocide!

She had caught up to him. Coming within striking distance, she held her Yukihyo in both hands until the knuckles were pale and swept it low at his abdomen. Ilfort didn't have to expend much effort to catch it. He seized the haft area just below the blade in one hand and twisted it about, wrenching his opponent's arm in the process. With the woman's mind racing for an explanation of how that happened, Ilfort spun her and snagged her throat in the crook of one arm.

"Stop that flailing around. I'll pop your pretty head off," he forced a sneer. He flushed slightly as his brain caught up to his body. She was touching him. Well...more like he was almost strangling her, but close enough, "I said stop it. Are you suicidal or something?"

"No more suicidal than you." She tried to turn her head slightly, but Ilfort put on a mild squeeze for emphasis. The Arrancar wondered what she meant. He had a bad feeling.

His bad feeling turned out to be correct, but he was to addled by her looks and his strange reaction to her being so close to him to heed it. Wriggling one hand slightly, she pressed hard on her weapon's tang. A spur popped out. Before Ilfort could push the girl and her Shikai away from him the spur turned into a large dart and sprang at his face.

"Gyeeaah!" Ilfort stumbled backwards. His hand had shot up and sacrificed its own health for the sake of his face. He clutched the effected palm and tried to stem the steady ooze of blood from where the dart had pierced it, dead center. The Soul Reaper returned to a fighting stance.

"You should thank me," she said, her face becoming a black mask in the shadows. "I tried to miss the main arteries and nerves. That should heal just fine when you arrive in Soul Society..."

_Except that Arrancar aren't Hollows and that doesn't happen when you bastards kill us!_ Ilfort wanted to shout. Was that how they convinced themselves that their deeds were noble, or at least not evil? At least they had to use an excuse. That made it a tiny bit better.

"Goodbye." The blade came flying toward him, his forehead the target.

The doors to the interior of the tower burst open. Suddenly the sound of the alarm that had been blaring inside the massive indoor city could be heard through the opening. White blurs rushed out_-_-Soldados Fracciónes. The woman lifted her head and the scythe-like Yukihyo halted in mid-air a foot from Ilfort's nose.

"I knew it-_-_It's a Soul Reaper!" one of the Fracciónes cried out. A chorus of growls and battle shouts followed, and the mob set their sights on Ilfort's attacker. Her eyes grew wide as she suddenly realized that she was doomed if she stayed any longer. Running right past Ilfort, she groped wildly in her sleeve. As she neared the edge of the fortress wall, she threw something small and shimmering over the side and jumped herself.

"Don't let her out of-_-_shit!" A familiar face roared in disappointment. The fellow Sexta Fracción barreled out of the doorway and knocked over a few of the weaker Soldados with his beefy arms. He came to a halt at the edge of the drop and glared over the side. He spat over the edge in disgust and turned back, returning his sword to its sheath.

"Edorad," Ilfort mumbled, staggering backwards and letting himself fall to the ground on his butt. "How'd you..?"

"Alarm went off when it sensed someone tearing it up up here," Edorad explained. A pair of medics fought their way through the disappointed throng of worked-up warriors, crouching on either side of Ilfort's personal space and making him flinch away. "I didn't think you'd get your ass whupped by that little pipsqueak though."

"H-hey..!" Ilfort tried to stand, but was shoved back down by the silent medics as they examined his punctured hand, "She was stronger than she looked..! And she took me by surprise!"

"By surprise..?" Edorad peered back over his shoulder with a slight grin, "Weren't you on guard duty?"

"Y-yes..! But she just sh-showed up! I only closed my eyes for a second..!"

Edorad sauntered off, producing wicked-sounding little gut chuckles.

"Heheheheh... You be glad Grimmjow don't read the reports that close..." The larger man started down the stairs inside the door, "Heheheheh!"

Ilfort shocked himself by not reacting strongly to the jest, instead trying to crawl over to the edge of the tower. The medics held him back by the shoulders, but he continued pulling weakly to see where the Soul Reaper had gone.

"Stay still, will you," one of the medics grumbled, trying to adhere a bit of gauze to his bleeding palm.

"She's long gone by now. Or Edorad would have put paid to her," the other said. Ilfort sighed and leaned back, allowing the two to help him up. That was true. Edorad would have gave chase if she were visible. She must have had some way to open a Garganta, or something like it, after she fell. He found himself being sad that she was gone.

_WHOA, whoa, whoa! _Ilfort's inner thoughts screamed out again as the two medics led him inside,_ Hold on. She tried to kill you. Kill you! You should be asking Edorad to rip her in half! Or doing it yourself if you ever lay eyes on her again! Not thinking about her hair, even if it is shiny and beautiful and... Gaaahh, you're doing it again! Stop it! She is BAAAAAAD!_

"Ilfort, sir, are you alright? You look spaced out."

Ilfort blinked and looked across his shoulder at the first medic, briefly coming out of his own head.

"Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just... thinking."

"And bleeding," the second medic added, rolling her eyes. "Will you hold that hand up a bit higher? Would be a help, you know."

"Fine, fine," Ilfort glared slightly at her and complied. He was too dizzy and confused to call her out on her rudeness. Besides, it doesn't pay to insult the ones who patch up your many wounds...

* * *

Author's Notes: This is AU, if you haven't noted. Check out my other AU for the weird details, "Crack, Science, Weird-Ass Events, and an Alternate Reality!". The characters are all from that alternate universe, but since most of the characters in this are either Grimmjow's fanclub or OCs then there's not so much OOC weirdness going on (Grimm and his boys are a little less kill-y, Grimm himself is more good guy than bad, and some of the events are a little...switchy...). Overall the Grimmjow boys' personalities are the same as their canon ones.


	2. A Couple Days Later

The Crack of the Other Side

* * *

#2: Shawlong Reads, Ilfort Gets Broody, D-Roy Gets Annoying

* * *

There was a common space in each of the Espada's Fracciónes' living areas of their palaces, but Shawlong really preferred the one within the Sexta's palace. There was an extra sofa, and it had a particularly good reading light arching up behind the far left cushion. Good in that it was durable, and could be jury-rigged so that it was optimal for him.

Or rather, had been jury-rigged so that it was optimal for him. Short people were in the dark, and taller people got the glare right in the bottom of their field of vision. No one but him would claim it.

It was usually quiet. There was a broadcast garganta placed on the opposite side of the wall, with the other cluster of sofas, but it was seldom being used. Only in the evenings, especially on Saturdays, was there any trace of the general rowdiness displayed by the more uncouth Soldados.

But there were always odd days out. This day was, for example, a Tuesday.

"Wash wrong wit' ya, huh, Horny-Boy?" D-Roy's appearance in the usual refined setting of the common room was odd, much odder than Ilfort's. The pale-haired brother of the Octava was slumped on one end of the sofa in front of the broadcast garganta, pretending to pay painful attention to the reports flowing down the screen before the actual entertainment came on. And D-Roy was doing his best to disrupt everyone in the scene, despite not being aware he was doing so.

"Nothing's wrong," Ilfort said. "Now get the hell away from me."

"Whoooa! Temper, temper!" D-Roy's snickers were a gnashing mess of spitting noise. It was offensive to Shawlong's ears even across the room, "If nothing'sh wrong, then why you freakin' out, eh?"

"Because I'm restraining the urge to take your ear off with my horn."

"Aawww, c'mon, Ilfort..." D-Roy scooted back a bit nevertheless, "I'm your homey, man. I just wanna know what's eatin' ya."

Shawlong turned the page, trying not to grind his teeth. It was difficult to read at the regular pace with all the idiotic background noise. _Might as well give up on trying to finish this today_, he thought.

"Nothing's 'eating me'..." Ilfort reached across the couch and shoved D-Roy badtemperedly. The snaggle-toothed Soldado wobbled, overbalanced, and fell over the back of the arm of the chair. "Now why don't you go and... Do whatever it is you do somewhere else..."

"Not cool," D-Roy growled and struggled upright, rubbing a sore spot on his posterior. "You broke my assh."

"You _are_ an ass."

"Hey! I take offenshe t' that!"

"I take offense to you trying to get in my business."

"I washn't-_-_heeeey." D-Roy's face split open in a crafty grin, "You admit shomethin's goin' on, huh?" The jagged-toothed Arrancar leaned forward eagerly.

"I didn't say that."

"Eshesheh... Easy..." D-Roy backed up again, pressing himself up against the back of the chair away from Ilfort's venomous glare, "Don't gimme that look."

"What look is this?" Ilfort's brow furrowed even more. D-Roy launched into a fit of nervous giggles.

"Th-the shtrangling look..." D-Roy could not stop exposing his ruined teeth in a grin, "Eshesheh... Don't shtrangle me..."

"Don't worry, I won't," Ilfort let out a wry laugh. "Yet."

Shawlong rolled his eyes. This was the kind of tomfoolery one could expect from the less polished members of the Sexta Fracción, but it never ceased to give him a reason to groan. Only page four hundred and three. Pathetic. The distraction value of those two was legendary.

"Oh, yeah? You try shtrangling me an' I'll kick your assh sho hard it'll migrate to your nipplesh!"

Ilfort chuckled, putting his hand on his face. Once he brought himself under control he raised a finger, "First off, that's the stupidest threat I've ever heard." He put up one more finger, "Second, if I decide I want to strangle you, you couldn't do much to stop me. Wuss."

"I ain't a wussh!" D-Roy objected, throwing down his hands like a child.

"You don't train at all." Ilfort smirked, "Wuss."

"Shtop callin' me a wussh! You don't train either!"

"Yes I do. Every day."

"Oh? When?"

"Different times. But every day."

"Liar!"

"Am not."

"Are too."

Shawlong had finally had enough. Inserting a small bookmark in his place and checking to make sure it was snugly in its place, he took either side of the book in his palms and slammed them shut hard enough to create a resounding echo. The sound stopped the infantile spat rather quickly.

"Will you two please shut your word-holes?" He lifted one eyebrow, but his expression was still very much ticked, "Your sound pollution is disturbing my brain function."

The two were silent, D-Roy sulking and Ilfort grateful. But it was bound to not last.

"Sho what ish buggin' ya?"

"Ughhh..." Ilfort hung his head, giving up on discouraging his comrade's annoying inquiries, "Why do you need to know?"

"I'm your homey!" D-Roy gasped, "Homies got your back!"

"You're not anyone's 'homey', D-Roy..."

"Well, then I jusht wanna know!" D-Roy stuck his face up close the Ilfort's, who leaned back over the bounds of the sofa's arm to avoid letting the smaller man come too close.

"Your breath's nasty, brother."

"Don't change the shubject!" D-Roy pulled away with an offended pout, "Jusht tell me what'sh goin' on and I'll shut up!"

"You will?" Ilfort perked up. D-Roy looked up from blowing his breath into a cupped hand to answer.

"Ew, that doesh shtink...Oh, er, yeah," he said. "You gotta tell me firsht though."

"Swear on your honor." Ilfort crossed his arms. Shawlong peered up over the pages of his book.

"I wouldn't trust that."

"Hey!" D-Roy twisted around to glare at the tall man, but he was already immersed in the pages again, "Fine, I shwear. Now, tell me tell me tell me!"

Ilfort sighed, eyes flicking over D-Roy suspiciously. Once they went to Shawlong in the background, but he dismissed any fears that he would go blabbing it around everywhere. No, that would be D-Roy he'd have to worry about. And he had sworn not to. Even if it was a little quickly and offhandedly.

"Okay...And you won't go running around telling everybody with functioning ears?"

"Nope."

"No laughing?"

"I'll try."

"And in return you'll shut the hell up?"

"Yesh."

"...Hunh..." Ilfort rubbed his forehead and pushed some long golden hair out of his face, "Alright... It's a girl."

D-Roy's eyes went wide, then he smiled fiendishly from one side of his bulbous mask to the other.

"A girl, huh? Eshehshehshehsheh! What'sh her name, huh? Ish she hot?" His perverse giggles died down somewhat on seeing the evil look Ilfort was shooting him.

"You're not even trying not to laugh, you asshole."

"I am sho! I wash...I wash just laughing 'cuz I wash thinking of girls." His painful-looking teeth stuck out from his curled lower lip, "But she ish hot, right?"

"Well, duh."

"And what'sh her name?" D-Roy's teeth poked out even more obviously, so much so that Ilfort wanted to punch them, "Or do ya not wanna tell me that, lover boy?"

"I don't know..." Ilfort slumped over. D-Roy blinked.

"Well, make up your mind then."

"No, I meant I don't know her name," Ilfort mumbled from under a curtain of hair.

"You don't know her name? How'd you get to likin' a girl without learning her name firsht?"

"I don't know... It's not like I didn't ask." Ilfort groaned and leaned back on the sofa, "She just... didn't tell me."

Shawlong looked up questioningly, both eyebrows raised up a fraction. He set the book part of the way down and stared at Ilfort hard enough that one might think he was trying to spontaneously combust him.

"Ilfort, exactly when did you meet this girl..?"

"Two...nights ago," Ilfort gritted his teeth as he said it. Of course Shawlong would deduce which girl he was talking about from the tiny bits of information he'd chosen to reveal. And as expected he was justifiably alarmed by what he'd discovered. "It's only a crush, you know. Not serious."

"I hope not." Shawlong's face was on the verge of a glare, "You know it'd be disastrous, or at least I hope you do..."

"I know, I know, it's really stupid," Ilfort admitted. D-Roy looked back and forth between the two, the sneaking feeling that he was missing something looming over his head.

"What's shtupid? What, you know who the girl ish?"

A simultaneous glare from both of them told him that he was no longer an accepted conversation partner. Shrinking back into the cushions of the sofa, D-Roy turned to the programme on the broadcast garganta and resisted listening in.

"Just know that if you pursue this, you are risking lives." Shawlong opened his book again but did not look down at it, "Including and especially your own. And it's very likely that you will never see her ever again. There are thousands of Soul Reapers, Ilfort, and thousands of miles of Hueco Mundo where they are sent. Hundreds are killed every year, replaced by more hundreds. The odds of this working..." Shawlong shifted in his seat and tapped his fingers on the pages, "...They're very, very,_ very _low."

"I know that," Ilfort snarled, taking up a position not unlike D-Roy. Being scolded like this was starting to get on his nerves. It wasn't as if he didn't realize how incredibly illogical the crush was, and how ridiculously stupid it would be to think it would work. Hearing it repeated was poison to his already foul mood, "You don't need to tell me all that. I know. It's not gonna happen." He put his feet up on the small coffee table and let out a long sigh, "I'm just really confused about how this started."

"She'sh hot and your not gonna-" One look from Ilfort and the feeling of Shawlong's laser eyes on the back of his head was enough to clamp D-Roy's mouth shut, "Never mind."

"Hormones. It's all to do with them," Shawlong murmured, turning a new page. "That's why I never trust the bastards..."

"You have hormones..?!" D-Roy's mouth gaped. Shawlong looked at him as if garbage were fountaining from his head.

"Yes, D-Roy. I have hormones. Everyone does." The tall man picked a single eyelash from where it had fallen on his book and set it carefully on the end table next to a small collection of others, "I just don't listen to them."

"How do you do that..?" D-Roy was mystified. Shawlong suddenly wanted to not be there, having to explain a lofty concept like self-control to the little wannabe. There was, however, an easy way out.

"Look it up."

"Look where?"

"Anywhere. Try books." Shawlong smirked, "It would be an admirable start to your reading career."

"H-Hey..!" D-Roy growled. "I can read! I just don't like it!"

"Oh well, I guess you'll never learn how to tell you testosterone to shove it."

"Wha.. But..." D-Roy could not come up with a snarky reply, or any reply really. He grumbled and stood, "Dammit..." And stalked out of the commons.

Ilfort blew a snort out of his nostrils, relieved that the little squeaking rat wasn't going to be around to interfere with his serious problems. He didn't mind the guy too much when things were going well, but whenever anything was off... He was always in the way. And he didn't usually have the sense to get out of the way.

"Hmm..." Shawlong found the header to a new chapter and allowed himself a little grin. But Ilfort would probably begin spilling out everything else that was on his mind soon, so there was little point in starting this one.

Right on cue, "I just wish she was an Arrancar..."

"Mm-hmm."

"Or even a bland regular human would be better than, than... this." Ilfort stared vapidly at the screen, not caring what was on, "At least the only issue there would be distance and... being careful not to smush her by accident."

"Mm-hmm."

"At least then she wouldn't be a sworn enemy..."

"Hmm."

"Yeah, you're right. This whole thing is dumb." Ilfort stretched and yawned, "I'm gonna take a nap here. Will you swat the little bug for me if he comes back?"

"Mm-hmm."

"... Are you just grunting affirmatively whenever I say anything?"

"Mn-nmm."

"Oh, okay." Ilfort snuggled into the couch cushions, making sure not to mangle his hair too much. Or impale any part of the furniture with his mask bit.

_Just forget about it, brother_, he thought to himself. _It's like skinny says: Not gonna happen. Never even going to see her again. Hunh, good riddance..._

* * *

Author's Notes: ...

Shawlong is totally giving off a badass vibe in this one. And holy crap, D-Roy. Gotta find a way to make him less dislikable in the future...


	3. Grimmjow In the Niceoverse

The Crack of the Other Side

* * *

#3: Behold, Grimmjow (180% Nicer, 50% Chiller)!

* * *

Espada Quarters were massive, decadent even. Even compared to the ample space afforded to Fracciónes and civilians. Grimmjow didn't like it.

For one, the rooms were hard to heat. The settings on the wall panel might say twenty-five, but it was probably more like twenty in reality. Not that it was a drain on energy or anything. Hueco Mundo was literally made of spirit energy; they would literally never run out. Though it was annoying when machines lied to you.

The bed was too big. He couldn't dangle his arm out as required for a decent night's sleep. He would sweat like crazy if he couldn't do this, but if he did he'd look strange-_-_slid over to one side of a massive bed, one arm out, the rest of the bed sitting there useless and empty.

He did not like that. But it was too much trouble to ask for a different bed.

The bed sat in the center of one of the clover-leaf branches of the Sexta's main quarters. As expected, one toned arm dangled out from the edge of the ivory sheets, and that was it aside from a tuft of messy electric blue hair. A mound in the covers shifted and inflated outwards, and the man underneath rolled over, removing the sheets from his face with a clawing motion. Sitting up, he took a moment to pull the wrinkled edge of his undershirt down over the tattoo which marked his rank on his left side. With a grunt he stood and wandered over to one of the other branches of the room, yawning the entire way. His jaws came back together with a clack of his mask fragments.

He stood by the mirror in the lavatory, staring vaguely at his own face. The black marks that had adorned the skin beneath his eyes ever since he had ceased being a Menos looked a little saggy today. His hair was a shock, the usual short spikes half-flattened and half-fuzzed out to the side. Comb needed there. Maybe a drop of hair gel, straighten the points up. Not too much. He didn't want to look like a porcupine. Or some kind of manga character.

The hair gelling went smoothly. He brushed and flossed. _Are the teeth up here meant to be flossed too? _he wondered, running a hand on the partial jaw that was permanently attached to his right cheek. _Probably not. Not real teeth. _

The colder-than-the-heating-controls claimed draft from under the door struck him, reminding him that clothes were in order. Nothing too great. Shirt, pants, shoes, and... done. The shirt stays open, though. No need to shut it. He'd sweat all over it then, and what would be the point in wearing a shirt wrong just to cover it in Espada sweat?

_Espada sweat, hmm. Sounds like a witch ingredient or something_.

He returned to the mirror. Something wrong with his face. Ah. The red mark from sleeping on the wrong side of his face. His mask nibbled on him again. Good thing the teeth were a little blunt.

He remembered something. _Oh, right, of course they're blunt. I had to sand them down..._

A knock sounded on his door. Grimmjow turned. Can't do a thing about the marks now. Work time approached. The Sexta answered:

"Who is it?" he grunted.

"Shawlong, sir."

"Get in here." Grimmjow nodded to himself, stepping away from the mirror. He had expected Shawlong. The skinny man was always on time, "Door's not locked."

"Thank you, sir." Such a formal attitude. Why? The two of them went way back, a lot farther back than most Arrancar. They knew each other even a short time before regaining their freedom of existence (not-a-Hollow-hood).

"What's up?" Grimmjow directed his subordinate and friend into the third wing of his gigantic chambers. There were chairs there. It looked like an office, despite the Sexta's best efforts to eliminate that effect. But it was unavoidable-_-_chairs (ergonomic, not cushy), desk (too big, couldn't reach across the whole thing for something even if he was afflicted with those freakishly long arms a number of Arrancar got), filing spaces (reports had to go somewhere). _Ooh, how_ classy. _How_ officious._ Bleh_.

"Regular business and whatnot," Shawlong said. Grimmjow could tell he had something else to say though. Eyes were all flicky, "Also, a small issue with Ilfort's watch that he took three days ago."

"Oh, the exciting one? " Grimmjow plopped down in one of the larger seat on one side of the desk, one leg hanging over the arm. Shawlong nodded with a smirk threatening to creep onto his thin face, "What about it?"

"Something disturbing I've learned about that night, aside from the obvious," he said. Grimmjow blinked and gazed hard at his old friend.

"Disturbing?"

"Yes, to do with Ilfort." Shawlong took a seat as well, choosing one across from his Master, "I have doubts about his safety after this event..."

"Hmm. Yeah. Finding out that Soul Reapers can get on your porch is a bit unsettling." He scratched behind one of his ears, "But I doubt any of us are in danger yet. Those Expeditionary Force ones are tough, but Ilfort could take four of them easy."

"That's the thing, he could have defeated her easily." Shawlong criss-crossed his fingers. He would look anxious if not for his stone face, "Some of the Octava's tests revealed that the trespasser's reiatsu did not exceed concentrations expected from a fifth seat. He could have slain her in one strike, or captured her with no effort."

"That's what you get for sleeping on the job," Grimmjow chuckled, a canine tooth jutting out of his mouth. Shawlong nodded placatingly but went further.

"True, but there's another reason to believe Ilfort is under some threat from this Soul Reaper." He licked dry lips, "According to what he told me last night, he has developed... feelings for our enemy."

Grimmjow blinked.

"As in...?"

Shawlong nodded.

"Damn." Grimmjow ran crooked fingers through his hair, squashing some of the spikes he'd fought to get standing right just moments before, "Hmm..."

To Shawlong's surprise, the Espada shrugged.

"Nothin' we can do about it, really."

Shawlong shifted in his chair, glancing from left to right.

"But, sir-_-_"

"No 'sir', remember? I'm Grimmjow."

"Right," he remembered. "Grimmjow, don't you find this... Unsettling? Whether we like it or not, and whether we asked for it or not, war with Soul Society is coming. What happens if Ilfort must fight that specific woman?"

"Who knows?" Grimmjow shrugged again and leaned back in his chair, taking his leg off the arm of it and slinging it across his other one, "Hopefully he'll do his duty. But you never know."

"I don't like this not knowing thing..." Shawlong crossed his arms, "I would rather it never happened."

"Well, it did." The Sexta grinned and bared his fangs, "Too late to go back. Anyway, it's not as if something like this has never happened before, one-way, two-way, either. Arrancar to Soul Reaper, or vice versa." The grin receded into a little smirk, "It's all over the place in those dusty old records downstairs. Wars or no wars. It never cost us too much before."

"Might cost us enough..." Shawlong's eyes widened. Grimmjow narrowed one of his at his friend.

"Shawlong, remember, no coercing people without their permission." He grinned again, "But yeah, it is up to Ilfort here. So no deciding for him, understood?"

"Yes..."

"Now, are you hungry? I'm hungry." Grimmjow stood and stretched his arms high over his head, waiting until Shawlong rose before heading toward the door, "Let's get somethin' to eat before my insides start a mutiny..."

"Yes, si-_-_Grimmjow."

* * *

Author's Notes: HAHAHA! In this universe, Grimmjow is good guy!

Nel's an evil b*%#h in this reality though. You win some, you lose some. 8D


	4. The Plot

The Crack of the Other Side

* * *

#4: The Plot

* * *

"Kesheshesheshehsheh..!"

D-Roy was in a good mood. He bobbed his head to the beats pumping (too) loudly in the ear buds sticking out from under his over-sized mask fragment and sauntered down the hall towards the Soldados' Mess much as he imagined the tougher members of Sexta Fracción did. They did saunter, right? D-Roy was guessing. He liked the weight of the zanpakuto at his side despite the fact that he wouldn't need it in such a safe setting. The scrawny guy winked at a passel of female civilians, who all stared at him for a moment before returning to their business with suppressed eye-rolling.

_They just can't stop themselves from looking, yeah! _D-Roy kept on going, feigning casual indifference. That was what girls liked, right? Macho? Mystery men? Both?

P-probably... right..?

The Mess was like many of the other cafeteria spaces within the Espadas' palaces. It was cathedral-like, almost to an inappropriate level for a dining area. There was absolutely no need at all for such high ceilings in this setting. But there it was, the ridiculous ceiling, hanging some two dozen D-Roys above his head.

And the heads of about a dozen other Arrancar, mixed classes. There were about ten serving class (a few eating, others collecting plates and suchlike), three actual Soldados. D-Roy recognized them immediately and strutted over.

_My arms ain't swinging _too _much, are they? _D-Roy's mind raced, _I don't wanna look stupid..._

"Morning, guysh!" He exposed his mutated teeth, "What'sh up?"

Nakim looked up, looking bored out of his mind, but stayed habitually silent. Edorad was the first to speak:

"Not ush..." He grinned wide enough for D-Roy to see a piece of his reflection in his sparkling teeth as he mocked the much smaller Arrancar's distorted speech. D-Roy nearly stomped the ground but stopped himself. Not cool...right?

"Heeey!" D-Roy scowled, "That'sh not very nishe. I wash being friendly!"

"Cool it, skinny," Edorad chuckled, punching D-Roy's arm lightly. D-Roy staggered. "I was just jokin'."

D-Roy took the ear buds out of his ears and sniffed them. Pulling a face, he crammed them into his pocket and sat down beside Nakim. Nakim turned his head away and abruptly set down his fork after seeing the display.

"Okay, okay, geesh." D-Roy snatched a piece of toast from a serving tray across from Edorad, reaching over Nakim's plate and nearly upsetting his drinking glass as he did so. Nakim caught the listing glass in one hand and glared at him, but still said nothing, "I wash jokin' too. What we eatin' today?"

"Breakfast."

"I know that, man. I meant the food. What all ish there?" D-Roy frowned at Edorad and picked up something he didn't recognize, "Like, what'sh thish crusty thingie?"

"Danish." Nakim put his forehead on his palm.

D-Roy stared at the object for a long time, his eyes contorting into an epic expression of "what the f-_-_?". He set it down gingerly back where he'd grabbed it from.

"Like... like the people..? I ain't eatin' that..!"

"No, stupid!" Edorad looked to the infinite ceiling, as if questioning some god about the location of his comrade's sense, "Not Danish_ people_, a Danish. It's a damn pastry. Now shuddup and eat it!"

Wisely, D-Roy obeyed, leaning back away from the outburst and nibbling on the breakfasty pastry. It was actually pretty good, not a thing like eating human flesh. He scarfed the rest in one over-sized mouthful.

"I forgot what I was sayin'," Edorad said. "Thanks D-Roy... Rrrgg, what was it?"

"Ghost hunting shows," Nakim reminded him. D-Roy got a strange look on his face.

"But... We're ghoshtsh...Ow!" He lifted up his foot from where Edorad had stomped it under the table.

"I know!" Edorad's grinned like an eager demon, "I was getting an idea one how to cheer up lover-boy over here..."

For the first time that morning D-Roy noticed the third occupant of the table. Ilfort was done eating, his plate shoved to the side with only a few things touched, his head down on crossed arms. D-Roy thought he looked bored, staring off into space with his mouth slightly agape.

"Yo, what'sh wrong with you?"

The blond man sat up and cleared his head with a shake, returning to a bright-eyed existence as if nothing was bothering him.

"Nothing serious," he claimed. "It's just the girl thing again. It's not going away so easily."

"That's why you need some of my _medicine_..." Edorad's brutal features were lit up with glee. Ilfort eyed him dubiously.

"What does that have to do with ghost hunter shows?"

Nakim chuckled wickedly. He seemed to have some idea what the muscle-bound man meant, and thought it was hilarious.

"Everything!" Edorad rubbed his hands together, "The show_ is _the medicine. Trust me, after tonight you'll feel like a new man. We'll have a little fun as a group now... Just don't squeal to any higher-ups. This kind of thing right now might ruffle a few feathers."

"Wait." Ilfort's eyes shot open, "You don't mean that we'd... Edorad..! We can't just pop in and out of the World of the Living whenever we feel like it! We need permissions, and then there's the Soul Reapers..." He slumped back down after the words "Soul Reapers", downcast and dejected.

D-Roy had suddenly caught the gist of what Edorad was suggesting. He radiated childish delight from his snaggle-toothed grin.

"Ahhhh..! We gonna crash a Ghost Hunter show..!" Edorad grinned with him and clapped Ilfort on the back, knocking him slightly off-balance.

"C'mon, man," he teased. "You used to love a little harmless prank on plain vanilla humans. Where's the fire, huh?"

"Damn Soul Reaper chick put it out, sorry." Ilfort steadied himself in his chair, watching for any more of the rough but friendly gestures.

"Well, this'll light it again. "Edorad's grin broadened, "Whaddya say?"

Ilfort peered around at the three. All looked so enthused, like children about to go out and trick-or-treat for the first time alone. Or teenagers about to go out and TP a house for the first time alone. Even Nakim showed a trace of a smirk. Sighing, Ilfort forced his own smile.

"Alright, I'm game."

"Yesh! Unh! We gonna messh them up! Kahahahahah!"

* * *

Author's Notes: Bonus points to whoever can guess which show they crash in the reviews! Wahahahah!


	5. A Ghost Adventure Part 1

The Crack of the Other Side

* * *

#5: A Ghost Adventure (Part 1)

* * *

It was a fairly normal evening in what could be anywhere in the modern world. Well, not anywhere, but a lot of places. A lot of places that were the outside of run-down theaters on the outskirts of a small American town long past its heyday. The sign was heavily warped and had most of its paint taken off: It read either "Gold -_-_-_-_- Theatre" or "Bird -_-_-_-_- Theatre", it was difficult to tell. Across the weather-stained glass of the main entrance was a heavy bar of steel, and a rusted chain together with a hefty lock secured it all.

The sun was setting, turning the blue sky into a purplish-orange hue that had no name. None of the living and only a handful of the dead spotted the Garganta open like a giant zipper peeling a bit of the heavens back and exposing a black twisting hole of spiritual energy. Four whitish blurs zipped out of the portal, hiding quickly behind various objects below. The Garganta melted back together as if it had never existed.

"No Soul Reapers in sight?" Edorad poked his head slightly over the top of an SUV parked in the lot by the abandoned theater. Ilfort took a glance around, probing with his Pesquisa at the same time. Nothing of interest; a soul here and there, some ungifted (or still alive, or both) humans inside one of the large moving vans nearby emblazoned with a macabre TV-show title.

_**Demon Journey... **_It proclaimed, surrounded by ominous skull figures, zombified versions of its small but popular cast, and an artist's depiction of what they thought spiritual energy looked like.

_It...looks like a bunch of blue _farts. Ilfort tried not to giggle. _Maybe this _will _be fun._

"None," he said with a smirk. D-Roy wandered out into the open and put his hands on his hips, scrutinizing the ghost-hunting van's graphics.

"Cool..."

"All clear." Edorad himself came out, the huge grin that had plastered his face since that morning never once weakening, "Heheheh, wonder where our new friends are? They better hurry, they'll be late for the show..."

Nakim shadowed Edorad as he approached the main door. The larger of them took the big lock in his meaty hand and examined it.

"Hunh, they ain't even opened the place up yet."

"Slow today." Nakim nodded.

"Wait a sec, I see 'em," Edorad said as he released the lock and pointed towards a different SUV approaching. "Hahah! We're in business!"

The black vehicle pulled up to the curb, its brakes protesting a bit as the driver abused them. The passenger side door swung open and a leg thrust itself out, clad in purposely faded jeans that were just a hint too tight to be on a man this bulky.

Ilfort could almost hear the melodramatic theme music...

The owner of the leg was indeed beefy. Not quite as beefy as Edorad, but nearing that point. He practically strutted out of the car, gravel crunching under a slightly expensive-looking pair of boots.

"Oh, shit, doeshn't he look a bit like Grimmjow?" D-Roy noticed with a shake of his head. Ilfort squinted and saw it.

"Yeah, but with black hair." His gaze wandered down towards the tight jeans, "And... worse taste in clothes..."

The other two in the SUV quickly revealed themselves. The second out was a skinny guy with close-cropped hair, fairly ordinary looking. The last was clearly either overweight or unfortunately proportioned, with a short squat torso and hair covering most of what was exposed. A largely unkept beard grew like a weed on his chin, but his head was otherwise devoid of covering. Tribal tattoos, not unlike the ones common on the crowd of "tough guy" Arrancar, creeped up his baldness. D-Roy couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing at the awkward pair of figures.

Which only grew worse as the fat one more fell out of the door than stepped out. The strap from the chunky camera on his shoulder caught on part of the tangled seat belt, and when he yanked at it to get it loose it obeyed a bit too quickly. He staggered sideways, looking like a drunken turkey with a film degree somehow.

"Alright, Aaron, where's the owner guy?" The Grimmjow look-alike strode right past where D-Roy leaned in stitches against the side of the van, "He's supposed to come unlock the door so we can put our X's down."

"Dude, I dunno where he went," the bowling ball-esque one, apparently Aaron, said. The skinny one opened the boot of the SUV and took out some more camera equipment, all of it packed in black crates stamped with copies of the zombie-flavored logo.

"He's coming back in, like, ten minutes," he decided to reveal the information to the other two. They seemed to ignore him, the black-haired skinny jeans-jow strutting up to the padlocked door and rattling the securing bar. He was inches away from Nakim, but it didn't seem to bother him.

"Dudes." His voice became grave and his face turned strangely uplifted, gazing around in slow motion (or an imitation of it) at the walls, windows, and pavilion of the ancient theater, "I can totally feel, like, an energy just floating around this whole place..."

"Is it demonic, Zak?" the skinny one asked. His voice said "Yes, I am a believer", but his face said, "This is what I ask every time he says this".

"Nah, man, nah, it's more like a..." For one ironic moment he turned slightly in Nakim's direction. The large Arrancar scooted an armslength away, just in case the unpredictable human made any unexpected moves, "It's... it's a woman, like, a female energy. It's like, calling me in there."

Nakim took another step away to the quiet snickers of the other three Fracciónes. Edorad nudged Ilfort in the ribs.

"See?" he said. "Told ya this'd be fun."

"Are you sure we even need to_ do _anything?" Ilfort's eyebrows raised, "They seem to be getting all worked up on their own. Or at least Zak Tightjeans is."

"Oh, yeah, thish ish _way_ better than messin' with thoshe 'Tapsh' guysh...!" D-Roy could hardly contain the urge to "help" the ghost-hunting trio get "evidence". Edorad put a huge paw on his shoulder to get him to stop fidgeting.

"Easy, Toofuses." He grinned, "They haven't even started filming yet. Let's egress, find a nice bunch of spots inside that theater..."

"And then comes the fun part?" Ilfort could feel his mood lift.

"And then comes the fun part, yeah."

* * *

Night fell without a sound, and the moon rose. Ilfort noticed as he stared out one of the grand windows on the main auditorium's balcony that the moon's phase was the exact opposite of Hueco Mundo's. He wondered why that was. Perhaps his brother could explain it to him if he found time later to visit him.

His position was secure, one that was guaranteed results. His left foot rested right next to and slightly behind an "X" of black electrical tape on the floor right by a complex rack of camera and other sensing equipment. The cameras sure had gotten better; not as advanced as those of dead people, but still pretty good. He could at least tell which one was infrared and which one was wired for sound. He made a mental note of where it stood, making sure that he wouldn't knock it over in the darkness.

A clatter down below him drew his attention. He leaned out from the railing, gazing down on the partially moldered stage. That was bound to be a health hazard, if it wasn't already in danger of collapsing in. The blond Arrancar snickered as he watched Zak, followed by the skinny man and Aaron with camera mounted on shoulder, step right over some fluttering caution tape and onto the wooden plain.

"So this is where the guy died onstage, right Nick?" The voice of the leader had no trouble echoing up to where Ilfort was hidden.

"Yeah, Caroline told us he was in the middle of a performance of _Hamlet,_ and then-_-_"

"And he was playing Hamlet the guy, right?"

"Yeah." Nick was far away, but Ilfort could already see that his macho pal's attitude was beginning to chip away at his patience, "He was playing Hamlet in _Hamlet_, and he dropped dead right about...here."

"Yeah." Zak turned to the camera that Aaron was holding, lunging in uncomfortably close, "And that's why we've got one of our X's right there. Dude, Aaron, show the people watching where the others are."

"Up there...there... and there." Aaron panned the camera around, stopping with the lens centered directly on Ilfort. _Should I start this off?_ he wondered. It was possible that if he released a bit more energy the camera might pick up something. It wouldn't be able to see_ him_ really, but it would get something. That was almost better.

Ilfort grinned. He opened the taps to just a trace amount more than a trickle, slightly more than what was allowed for Arrancar going within spitting distance of ordinary humans (dead or alive).

"Holy shit!"

The reaction was better than he would have hoped! Just as ants do when a dirt clod is dropped on their hill, the three so-called investigators made a brief mad scramble for safety that wasn't there. Zak (once he was done keeping control of his bowels) rushed the camera Aaron was holding and jerked it so that he could see the tiny viewing screen.

"What the f&#% did you see?" he demanded. Aaron gave up on keeping a hold on the camera and passed it to him, his face paler than Ilfort's Soldado uniform.

"Dude! I was, like, just gonna pan over where the X camera were on the balcony, and this big sorta grayish thing was right there next to camera three!"

They huddled over the camera, replaying the footage. Ilfort craned his neck up high, then around the sides. He frowned, not able to see the fruits of his efforts for Zak's burly arm.

"Oh my God, guys," Zak said with a grin. "This is awesome. You know where we saw an apparition like this last..?"

Aaron got a squeamish look on his face. Nick opened his mouth to answer but never had a chance.

"This is just like the one we saw at Ricky Bobby's Music Cafe." Zak had a lustful glint in his eyes. _Uh-oh_, Ilfort thought. _I don't know if I like that._ "Where I was possessed for the first time, you remember that?"

"Uh, yeah." Nick looked at Zak warily, "I mean, yeah, you were seriously messed up in there."

Zak immediately turned on his heel, his eyes smouldering in Ilfort's direction. His chest was puffed like a teenage rooster about to go to war with a rival, though thankfully his black Grimmjow plumage did nothing to change. Ilfort felt the need to step back, raising an eyebrow at the investigator's sudden turn towards aggression.

"What's wrong, big guy? Can't show yourself to my face?"

Zak strutted more, his glare searching the blackness for something invisible to provoke.

"That all you can do? A little smudge on a camera?" He had turned in a full circle and was now directly below where Ilfort looked on at the balcony railing, "Do something else to me! Come on, you... you bully! You _demon_! I'm not afraid of you! Show yourself!"

Ilfort could not help but smirk; it was all he could do to brush off the desire to grab the bulky fratboy by the skin-tight collar and give him a reason to be afraid. But that wouldn't be fun, no point in getting worked up over some blind idiot. Ilfort hopped up slightly, balancing on the railing.

"Okay, _kind sir_," he chuckled. "You wanted something else... So here you go!"

_THUD!_

Ilfort didn't put any effort into lightening his landing at all. The floor shook right under Zak's feet as the Arrancar dropped down a mere two feet beside him.

"HOLY F #%#&*# $!"

Aaron and Nick both decided this would be a good time to scurry like roaches to the relative safety of the stage curtains. Zak stood his ground as best he could, but still looked uncertain as he twisted his head around wildly for the source of the noise.

"No, Aaron, Nick! We do not run!" he bellowed after them.

"F&#% that, man!" Aaron cowered behind the device he was sure was about to record his own demise. Nick took a few calming breaths and remembered that their show was supposedly to investigate these things.

"Here, Zak, take the EVP recorder." He came out to the edge of the stage, as close as he would come, and handed off the small cylindrical object.

"Yeah, Nick, I need my EVP recorder for this." Zak's face was lit up with strange masochistic delight, "They're ready to come out..!"

"I've been out, Tightjeans, where've you been?" Ilfort stood by with his arms crossed. He tilted his head back uncomfortably as the muscled man thrust the mic end of the recorder all around, nearly shoving it in Ilfort's open mouth, "Erk. Watch where you're waving that thing..."

Zak of course couldn't hear him. He proceeded to shout the laundry list of things living people think would be alright and appropriate to ask dead people:

"Tell me-_-_who are you?" Seemed okay, at first. Ilfort was tempted to answer (falsely) but before he could concentrate on being audible to the device the second question cut him off, "When did you die?"

"Oh, real classy, Tightjeans," Ilfort forgot himself a bit, scowling at the clueless man wandering feet away. In his ambling around the seats looking for the ghost he had actually turned in completely the opposite direction of where the Soldado stood, "Hey... Tightjeans, over here. Hell_oooo._.."

"Are you the evil bastard that killed all those people back... back when Ricky Bobby's was still a public gallows?" Again, the pause in between the sentences intended to give the spirits a chance to speak was rudely cut short so that Zak could rant some more, "Where you took innocent people and strung them up by their necks? And you watched them die?"

"Wait...what?" Ilfort took a step back, "You didn't even listen to see if I told you who I was-_-_"

"Well, I don't like bullies, you know." Here comes the catchphrase, "Living or dead! Now come on you hateful bastard! Show yourself! And none of this stupid thumps and tapping games!"

Ilfort shrugged. There was just no talking to some people. He remembered why he was there in that moment, and a savage grin crossed his face as he honored the ghost hunter's request.

Reaching out carefully, he waited until Zak had strutted himself into place facing him. Then, as gingerly as he could while still achieving his mischievous goal, Ilfort flicked him on the nose.

"Whuuarghh!"

The cocky human flew backwards into the edge of the stage, busting one of the rotten wood panels into two crispy slats. Shaking he got up and stared all around with his mouth agape.

"I dunno, man. I dunno," he stammered. "Whatever this thing is just rocked me!"

"Alright, guys, we need to get out of this room." Nick grabbed a hold of Zak by the meat-covered wrist and led him towards one of the offstage exits, "Let's try regrouping in the dressing rooms. The entity in this room is dangerous, I think."

They staggered off, uttering more curse words than Ilfort had ever heard in any Soldado line-up as they waited on Grimmjow to arrive and give orders. Snickering very audibly (to dead people and mediums), he followed the three stooges at a leisurely stroll.

"'The one in here is _dangerous_..!' Heh! I can walk too, you know..."

* * *

Author's Notes: Heehee! No Don Kanonji! ... Some names (of shows, not people) have been changed to preserve anonymity...

Stay tuned for what D-Roy's got in store for these three clueless boring regular humans!


	6. A Ghost Adventure Part 2

The Crack of the Other Side

* * *

#6: A Ghost Adventure (Part 2)

D-Roy's Turn...

* * *

In the dark the dressing rooms were much more ominous, even the end with the ridiculous clown costumes and gaudy princessy dresses hung up on dust-coated racks like old skins. D-Roy peeked out from behind two such dresses, listening to the distant string of frightened cursing and psyching himself up for the fun.

"Ptooie..." Somehow a sequin had ended up in his mouth, "Bleh, dusty..."

"Shuddup, here they come..!" Edorad grinned and stood slightly from where he was seated on a crate of costume supplies, "Just remember what I told ya-_-_don't squish 'em and don't overestimate their intelligence..."

"Got it," D-Roy said with a grin, sinking back into the rack of dresses. "I'm gonna go firsht..."

"Go on ahead then." Edorad sat back down.

The tromping of Zak's unsteady boots in the corridor leading to the two Soldados' hiding place echoed closer.

"Hey guys-_-_Three bozos heading your way!" D-Roy and Edorad both snickered as they recognized Ilfort's cheerful voice. "And they are _primed_!"

"Heheheh!" Edorad seemed delighted to hear of his comrade's success in weakening the investigators' bladders. His heavy elbow nudged D-Roy playfully, "Play nice."

"Holy shit, dudes," Zak started with a soliloquy, holding his hands out like some inebriated preacher to his particularly gullible flock. "That was like, no bullshit there, man. Whatever's in here means business."

"I ain't goin' back in that stage, man..." Aaron's gaze cast about, seeing shapes in the shadows of the props and hanging costumes. Zak rounded on him.

"We gotta go back." He pointed in what he imagined was a bad ass way into the camera lens, "These ghosts in here are nothin' but bullies. If we run away, they win."

"Hey, were we keeping score? Sorry, I forgot," Ilfort said as he popped up over Aaron's shoulder. "Please, stay! We haven't even began to play yet..."

"Kesheshesheshesheh!" D-Roy crept up on the one called Nick, eying him and wondering how best to make him lose his head like the others were so quick to do, "Hey, guysh, can these recorder thingiesh catch our voishesh?"

"If you concentrate hard enough, yeah," Edorad said. D-Roy grinned and lowered his face until it was inches from the device laying by Nick's hand. Ilfort's face lit up and he instantly knew what D-Roy had in mind.

"Keep it clean." He held a stitch in his side from suppressing chuckles for too long, "You know, some kids watch this show..."

All the while Zak was warming up for an EVP session, by far the most scientific exercise in trying to find dead people the_ Demon Journey _crew had attempted thus far in the evening. Unlike the treatment he'd given Ilfort in the theater, this set of questions had a significantly different theme...

"Can anyone hear me?" he asked to the darkness between where Ilfort stood and Edorad sat shaking with silent laughter, "Is anyone here, with us, in this dressing room?"

**_"Yeah..."_ **D-Roy growled in his best "demon impersonation". Ilfort fell over, **_"There'sh two midgetsh and a shtripper..."_**

"Are you stuck here? Do you need help?"

"Heeeeeeeeelp meeeeeee..!" D-Roy whined in a loud drone, "Heeeelp meeeee...hang these _streamers_..!"

"Are you a male spirit?" Zak by chance stopped right in front of where Nick was now holding up the voice recorder. D-Roy frowned and stood up on his tip-toes to continue, "Or are you a woman..?"

**_"We're all horny transhveshtitesh, baby!"_**

"Are you the woman that called me in here earlier..?" Zak's eyes became big and soulful, casting about the room and wandering so that he stood right in front of where Edorad was sitting. The large Arrancar took a break from laughing for a few seconds and scooted off of his seat just in time to avoid the leader of the team plopping down in his lap, "Were you murdered in this very theater?"

"**_I ordered a pizzsha, not a dooooooouchebaaaaaag..!"_** D-Roy moaned, having trouble sustaining his ghostly voices without busting out laughing, **_"Now let'sh all have a ghoooooosht gaaaangbaaaaaang..!"_**

"D-Roy... Stop..!" Ilfort was literally on the floor, rolling onto his side with his face painfully squinched up. Aaron chose that moment to move and get a new angle to shoot from, walking backwards right into Ilfort's legs.

"Oh, sh-_-_" The fat one crashed to the floor, his camera skittering away and coming to a rest relatively undamaged under an old dresser. Ilfort extricated himself from under the oblivious human and jumped upright before Zak rushed over.

"What happened, man?!" Zak lunged and helped Aaron to his feet. Aaron scrabbled around, recovering his camera, and leaned against the dresser.

"Dude, I just tripped." Shockingly, Aaron was not fearful anymore, passing off the strange occurrence of tripping over an Arrancar as a mundane accident, "Musta been that chair leg or something."

"You sure you okay, man?" For the first time in the investigation Tightjeans-jow wore a face that resembled genuine care for his buddies, "You fell pretty hard."

"Awwww, how _sweet_," Edorad snorted, jogging D-Roy in the shoulder. "Watch how quick he turns back into asshole of the year..."

"We gotta listen to that tape," Zak shouted back to Nick, who sighed and plugged the recorder into a small speaker by the camera covering that room. "If we hear something aggressive, man, I dunno..."

"Why can't they finish a sentence..?" Ilfort looked up at Edorad, scoffing. Edorad was paying more attention to the trio's... unique... interpretation of what D-Roy had said.

"_OH MY GOD!_" The hopping and violent gesturing towards the recorder playing back the scratchy electronic voices began, forcing Nick to take a step back to keep from being smacked, "You heard that, didn't you?!"

"Yeah." Nick nodded, but before he could repeat what _he'd_ heard, Zak did it for him:

"It totally just said _'die'_ when I asked if anyone was in here!"

"Whaaa...?" D-Roy leaned in, "That ain't what I shaid..."

"It keeps going! Listen!" Zak's face was lit up like a child's at Christmas. D-Roy took a step back, looking over his shoulder at his two friends and mouthing the word "bonkers", "It just said 'get out of here'!"

"How'd they..." D-Roy gawked, throwing up his hands to the ceiling and mouthing more derogatory words. "I shaid 'two midgetsh and a shtripper'! Not 'get out'! You guysh shuck at lishtening!"

If Zak, Nick and Aaron had the skills to hear what was really going on in the room they would have been deafened by Edorad's crowing and Ilfort's rapid snickering. D-Roy crossed his arms and let a slow grin expose his jagged teeth.

"Oooh, you're gonna get it later, " he said, tapping one foot on the floor. "You are sho gonna regret messhin' that up for the viewing audienshe..."

"Easy, Toofuses..." Edorad was suddenly alert, wagging a finger at his smaller comrade, "No smushing, remember?"

"I know, I know..." D-Roy stalked around the three (still freaking out) ghost hunters in a full circle, licking the front of his upper incisors, "I'm jusht gonna... shtartle 'em."

"Maybe we should go and, uh, log this evidence?" Aaron had a sudden bad feeling, like he was in dangerous territory, surrounded by slippery things just outside his field of vision, "I think maybe we should investigate the apartment upstairs now..."

"But we're getting demonic voices!" Zak glared at Aaron as if he were the crazy one. D-Roy popped up at Zak's side and clicked his tongue at the rude assumption.

"Don't make fun of shpeech impedimentsh, you assh."

"Well, that's probably a good sign to get out for now," Nick's words were by far the wisest any member of either party had said all night. "Besides, the apartment is where Caroline and the other employees kept seeing that female apparition on the bed..."

"Oh," Zak said. He seemed to light up strangely at the mention of a female spirit. "Yeah, we've got to get a _full_ investigation there, guys." He threw a thumb over his shoulder, jabbing D-Roy in the top of the mask slightly, "I got a 'present' for her if she shows up..." He winked and guffawed. Ilfort felt his stomach turn and tasted a little bit of one of that morning's danishes.

"Did he just..?"

Edorad nodded, eyes closed and sage, "Yep."

"What a _douche_!" Ilfort hoped for a second that he had been focusing enough to be heard on any of the cameras' sound equipment, "That's a little... rapey, yeah?"

"Oh, don't worry, the girl's not even here anymore, " the big Arrancar informed him, gesturing up through the ceiling. "Some grunt Soul Reaper came and got her one day. They'd be talking to air if we weren't here."

"I'm not touching you..." D-Roy was ignoring them, having his own fun with Aaron, who was growing increasingly worried about his own safety. The snaggled-toothed man was following him extremely closely, holding out one finger just shy of poking him in the back of the head, "Keshehshehsheh..! Thish guy'sh fashe..! Look at it, guysh! He's like a damn meatball or something...!"

Ilfort brushed dust from his shirt, looking slightly puzzled.

"Edorad... D-Roy... Where'd Nakim go?"

D-Roy's face developed a broad slit from the creepy, closed-lipped grin he made. Edorad's devious smile was a great deal more toothy as he pointed to where the trio of investigators were stomping up the staircase to.

"The apartment... Where Zak's gonna get a big surprise..."

A small cat was disturbed from her rest on the roof of the old theater as the shrieking gales of laughter woke her.

* * *

Author's Notes: Who's ready to see Nakim speak more than three words in a row? I is!


	7. A Ghost Adventure Final Part

The Crack of the Other Side

* * *

#7: A Ghost Adventure (Final Part)

* * *

Things Get A Little Serious...

* * *

Shawlong yawned and let himself relax into the cushions of the large sofa where he had rigged his favorite reading light. It was off now, of course. The copy of Hemingway was stashed safely under his arm where no wandering hoodlums (D-Roy and some of his younger friends) could bother it. In the dimly lit room, Grimmjow's strong right hand prepared to grab a quick nap. He had been assigned to a watch in a few hours, the dead of night, and he wanted to be wakeful enough to complete it with none of the... difficulties that Ilfort had encountered.

Though he seriously doubted that anyone attractive enough to distract him for more than a millisecond would show up.

As often happens when people who desperately want to fall asleep try to do so on a timeline, Shawlong suddenly had everything that had happened that day pop into his head.

_Damn, Grimmjow wanted me to check on Ilfort again and I forgot_, he thought. _Then again, I don't remember seeing him today at all. Was he on a mission..? No, I don't think so. That was Yorick... Where was he all day? _

Shawlong sat up, rubbing his eyes with one hand. Well, the eye he could easily reach. The other one flicked around, stopping on various objects but not taking note of them; he was too deep in thought for that.

_I saw Ilfort last... yesterday afternoon. Yes, he was in here. That was when he let slip about the Soul Reaper... _

Shawlong stood and set off at a swift clip down the hall, knowing exactly where he was going. He did not have far to go by Las Noches terms. Along a more narrow way with hardly anyone coming and going along it he stopped at a door. Not one of the gigantic ones leading into the massive spaces, or the Espadas' quarters. No, this was only slightly large, and it was the door to Ilfort's room.

"Ilfort?" Shawlong rapped his knuckles hard on the marble-like surface. There was no response. He tried again, holding himself back just enough to avoid generating cracks in the material, "Ilfort!"

Silence...

With a sigh Shawlong took a step toward the door and drew his blade. Were it Edorad or even his Master Grimmjow trying to gain admittance then the door would likely be powder by now. No need to overreact. Ilfort could simply be sound asleep, about to be rudely awakened by his door being destroyed unnecessarily. Shawlong had a better idea. Carefully he took the razor-sharp weapon in both hands, one on the hilt and the other steadying the back of the edge. The tip of the sword wedged into the crack between door and jamb, on the side of the lock. With a little effort and some quiet grunting Shawlong managed to weasel the lock open and open the door.

He entered, sheathing Tijereta, a confused look on his face. Looking to the left he could see the bed, and there was no one in it. It didn't even look slept in. Sucking in a sharp breath he navigated the demi-rooms, always scanning the floor for any of the tell-tale signs of the worst having happened. He ended his search in the bathroom, more puzzled than when he started. No blood, no signs of struggle, nothing. Certainly no note indicating where he was going. At the very least he knew that Ilfort had not done himself in, and that was some comfort. He glanced towards the side of the bed, just visible from where he was. No zanpakuto.

_Ilfort must have taken it with him_. Shawlong exited the room, seeing no need to invade his comrade's privacy any further, _At the very least he has some protection, wherever he is..._

Wordless Shawlong paced down the hallway further. He tried sensing to see if Ilfort was perhaps nearby, but he couldn't feel any of his comrades' presences.

Shawlong's eyes widened and he stopped abruptly in the center of the hallway. He checked again. It was true! There was not a recent trace of Ilfort, Edorad, Nakim or D-Roy! Some of the others he could faintly distinguish through the sturdy walls, but none of the original five who had first pledged to serve the Sexta. Except for him.

Shawlong frowned, grasping that perhaps this disappearance was not the fault of an outside force...

_Damn those infantile...! _Shawlong did not waste any time, clearing kilometers of hallway space in his swift Sonído. He did not know where the four had gone to, but he could guess well enough. And he knew just how to track them.

* * *

Zak had decided to enter the apartment above the old theater alone, as was his typical style. Besides, he fully expected a lady spirit to get intimate with him. The only thing to watch would be the cameras... Which somewhat contradicted his desire to be alone...

Of course, he wasn't devoid of audience at all. Invisible to the so-called sensitive, Edorad and Ilfort followed him up the staircase, both eager to see the hilarity of what Zak could not. D-Roy had been asked kindly if he would prep the next stage of Operation Best Broadcast Ever, which of course was more of the infamous "demonic voices" spewing profane and ridiculous phrases into the various mics wired all around the location. With a salute, the scrawny Arrancar was off to do his sacred duty.

"So... Nakim's not going to _do_ anything, is he..?" Ilfort winced, not sure how much humor he would actually find in the situation upstairs...

"Heh, no." Edorad nearly trod on Zak's heels, slowing down a bit to let the winded human reach the top of the staircase, "But Zak don't know that. Heheh..! You just sit back and watch, Nakim's done this before. Same guy even."

"Ehhh..."

"So don't worry, there'll be no ghost porn tonight," Edorad squashed Ilfort's discomfort. "Well, maybe in Zaky Tightjeans' mind, but nowhere else."

"Heh."

Zak ascended the stairs, gazing in awe at the ancient apartment preserved in its original state since nearly a century before. The bed was lacy under the thick film of dust it had accumulated-_-_pink and frilly. Obviously a girl's bed. Above it, a Victorian-style painting of just the kind of spirit he expected to find there: Young. Pretty. Slender. Golden-haired. _Female._

Ilfort felt his sides ache as he buckled over. The bed had an occupant that was sagging the springs down considerably. Nakim, in his best pin-up pose, winked at the investigator as the bulky man wandered further in.

"Oh...God...!" Ilfort could barely speak for laughter, "That's just...! Nakim...You're killing me..!"

"Hello..." Zak was clueless to the raucous concert of giggles happening just behind him, "Are you the woman who called me in here from outside?"

"C'mere, baby," Nakim managed to make his voice even more of a hoarse grunt, concentrating on making it heard to the small handheld that Zak was limply cradling.

"I just want you to know, like, I_ heard _you," Zak got dangerously close to the bed. Nakim suppressed a snicker, "And I'm here now... I brought you something."

"Ahhhhh...my sides...!" Edorad fell against the wall, making a slight thump. Zak jerked upright and stared all around, then muttered into his camera's mic.

"I'm gonna tag that right now. I think I got a response, like a thump."

He turned back to the bed, disregarding the fact that the "response" had come from the opposite direction.

"Do you like it?" He held out the object he had been concealing in his jeans pocket (somehow), a tiny crucifix obviously made for a young woman. It was afflicted with frillyness and flowery curves just like the room was.

Nakim scrunched up his face and pulled back away from the reaching hand.

"Man, aren't you married?"

"Hello? Are you there?" Zak seemed shocked that nothing was groping his magnificent (-ly gross-looking) pecks yet, and put his hand even closer to Nakim's fat rolls, "What are you gonna do to me..?"

"Nothin' if you don't put a ring on it," Nakim scooted off the bed and slapped Zak's hand away simultaneously.

The ghost hunter scrambled for safety like he'd just been shot at, clutching his hand and staring down at it in amazement as if he'd never realized that the dead could touch the living before.

And apparently, any spirit that dissed his molestery advances was by default an evil one.

"Are you really that woman who was killed in here..?!" Zak stood to his full ghost-demeaning height, tromping around in a circle in front of the bed and scouring the darkness for fleeting shapes (that weren't there), "Or are you something _else_?! Something that just wanted to _lure me in here_?!"

"For one, I'm a guy," Nakim said hopefully, leaning on one of the bed posts. "So, no. I'm not a girl."

"Well, I'm gonna get to the bottom of this!" Zak pulled a device from off one of the stands where an X camera was mounted. Nakim stared at it oddly. It looked something like a cellphone from the eighties, a brick filled with wires and equipped with tiny screen and fat antennae, "This box here is called the Ovilus. It won't hurt you, but if you use your energy it'll speak..."

"Ummm...Advice, guys?" Nakim had never been faced with this particular squat machine before. Edorad bared his fangs devilishly and stopped chuckling long enough to gasp out a few words:

"Just... mess with it all you want... Can't go wrong...!"

"C'mon, you... you demon!" Zak goaded them, jabbing the air with the Ovilus almost as if he forgot what he was holding was not a weapon, "Make this machine talk! What do you want to do to me?"

Nakim shrugged and released some of his energies, aiming them at the antennae. The first attempt missed, the bluish-green reiatsu dispersing in random directions. He tried again, this time scoring two direct hits.

"RAT SPOON."

"Bwahahahahahahahahaha_haaaaaaa_...!" Edorad was now on his back, pounding the floor with one of his beefy fists, "Haaaa..! 'Rat spoon'! How random is _that_?!"

"Let me try one!" Ilfort lifted a hand and a sliver of golden-hued energy lanced off, glancing off one side of the device. The machine whirred as if stumped by the input it was receiving and then gave its response:

"F&$%."

"Whoa," Nakim said, scratching his head. "I thought they removed the cuss words from all their things last season..?"

"AHAHA...Apparently they_-_-h-haahaaha_-_-forgot one..!" Edorad pulled himself upright on one of the walls, trying not to let tears spill out of his eyes from the laughing stint. Ilfort shook his head, smirking.

"I wasn't even going for that..."

* * *

A different kind of otherworldly portal was creaking open atop the stone bluffs above the largely deserted town. Instead of the sky opening as if it had a zipper sewn into it, a door in the old Japanese style, back lit with a strange whitish light, materialized atop the giant rock and slid apart.

Two figures came out initially. Little could be seen of them for the glow emitting from the open Senkaimon gate except that neither looked exceptional, and one was clearly larger. The two were followed by a small troop of others, who dashed out and surrounded the two protectively.

The glow from the gate dimmed, and the crowd was revealed to be near to thirty Soul Reapers. Most were unexceptional; "grunts" was an accurate description of their powers. But the two in the center and a ring of four others closest to them were different.

The grunts were crouched and tense, strange spiritual pressures in the distance putting them on edge. But the six that stood out were standing tall and undisturbed by the unusual presences. The taller of the two leaders, a dark-skinned and long-haired man wearing a pair of glasses much too small for his face, adjusted how his zanpakuto rested in its sheath and turned to his left, addressing his side of the troop.

"Presence of Arrancar in the World of the Living confirmed..." He stared directly at one of the six stronger members of the team. The much burlier man began to sweat but kept a straight face, "Hisao, stay with the Senkaimon. Make sure no one or no thing sabotages our way home."

"Yes, sir." Hisao straightened up and took up a position directly in front of the portal, one hand already on his katana's hilt as if expecting trouble.

The dark-skinned Soul Reaper next turned to the passel of rank-and file Soul Reapers mutely awaiting his orders.

"The rest of you, spread out and keep alert. Do not engage the enemy until I, Ayako, or your ranking officers have arrived." He took a short glance in the direction of the second Soul Reaper in the center of the circle, a woman with extremely long blue hair that was so pale that the night had no effect on its hue. She turned away, her face frowning slightly and one hand brushing her bangs out of her eyes, "If you see one of the Arrancar report it immediately with your Soul phone. One of us will be there within a minute."

The Soul Reapers bowed curtly at the waist at their leader's orders in unison. He drew his zanpakuto, a dangerous-looking implement with a more silvery blade than normal.

"Now. Move out."

A curtain of dead leaves swirled about, disturbed from where they had lain, by each of the killing squad simultaneously taking off in a flash.

* * *

Author's Notes: WHO'S READY FOR SOME ACTION?! I IS!


	8. D-Roy, Chick Magnet

The Crack of the Other Side

* * *

#8: D-Roy, Chick Magnet (Negatively Charged)

* * *

_**"Giiiiive us doooooooughnuuuuuutsh..! We prefer jelly-fiiiiiiiiilled..! And maybe shome cruelleeeeeeeeersh..!" **_

D-Roy was having a fine time all by himself, imagining the slack-jawed faces of the three stooges of ghost hunting already as he howled the "spooky" voices into a new recording device he'd just found. A green light lit up on it briefly, indicating that the message was received (in whatever quality it had happened to be recorded). D-Roy let his jagged teeth poke free, smugly swaggering along out of the side door of the once-grand theater.

_Place's probably never had anyone bust any rhymes on that stage... _D-Roy glanced over his shoulder, _Poor thing! But I don't have any memorized right now. You gonna have to wait, Whatever-your-name-is Theatre!_

D-Roy's day-dreaming did not come to a halt until a flash of reiastsu above him dove down towards him. Noticing it with a stunned fit of blinking, the scrawny-looking Soldado peered up in time to see a steel blade chopping down at his forehead.

_TANGGG..!_

The blade halted easily to his last millisecond resistance. It scraped and slid, it and its holder's arms quivering, against D-Roy's upraised wrist.

"Who the hell're _you_?!" Even D-Roy did not need to look twice to tell what his attacker was-_-_an obvious Soul Reaper, garbed all in black except the pure white sash about his waist. D-Roy craned his neck up, blinking with a slight squint as he scrutinized his opponent.

He was the exact opposite of D-Roy: Tall where the Arrancar was short, thick where he was thin, and severely lacking where D-Roy was gifted with shaggy pale hair. Despite his overwhelming size compared to the Arrancar, he was shaking with the effort to keep his sword in the same position against D-Roy's arm.

"I _shaid_, who're you?" D-Roy sneered slightly. The Soul Reaper withdrew to the roof, retracting the blade but keeping it held out in an aggressive stance, "What'sh the big idea?"

"Dammit, Rikio, I thought I told you to wait until we'd sent out the signal!"

D-Roy jumped slightly and turned halfway around, spotting the source of the annoyed voice. A different Soul Reaper was perched on top of one of the_ Demon Journey _supply vans, a few meters away.

"But... I caught 'im off guard..!" The first Soul Reaper grumbled, still tensed and ready. D-Roy glanced back and forth between the two, cocking his head to the side and smirking.

"Hesheh...Didn't do ya much good, did it?" D-Roy retrieved his zanpakuto from where he'd slung it in his sash, sheathed and all, "If you wanted to fight you coulda jusht ashked me, heh!"

"Watch out, Rikio!" A third Soul Reaper darted in from the open street, his blade thrusting out just as D-Roy left the ground. The Arrancar saw him just as the blade connected with his foot, glancing off.

_Whoa, they're pretty...slow_, he realized. _I wasn't even _dodging_ that time..._

Pausing mid-leap, D-Roy retaliated, putting his foot squarely into the ambusher's face and sending him scuffing along the pavement at a high rate of speed. The Soul Reaper's clothes ripped and fell away as he rolled twice and came to a halt against a gnarled tree trunk.

"Owww..." the Soul Reaper groaned and tried to sit up, giving up and collapsing back on the ground. "What're you..._made_ of..?"

"Keshesheshehsheh..!" D-Roy straightened, beaming, "I'm made of pure aweshome, man. Thought you could gang up on me, huh? Nope, no shir. That ain't happening-_-_!"

The deceptively scrawny Soldado was forced to block once more as the bald Soul Reaper leaped down from the roof and slashed wide at his neck. D-Roy growled and snagged the blade out of its trajectory, ripping it out of its owner's hands in the process. As the huge man hissed and rubbed the raw spots forming on his palms he looked up with an expression of pure "Aw, crap". Then it was lights out-_-_D-Roy threw a backhand with his fist balled around his zanpakuto. The thug caught it with the side of his head.

"Shee, now, that'sh why we Arrancar don't like you guysh!" D-Roy huffed and brushed some dust from his shoulder, "Talking'sh a free action! You can't jusht interrupt people while they're tryna shay shomething to ya..!"

The remaining Reaper stared at his opponent, dumbfounded. D-Roy snorted and jumped into a Sonído that took him right in front of the quaking grunt.

"Y'all are sho _weak_..!" he said as he caught the Soul Reaper's retaliatory swipe with three fingers. Grinning wide and running his tongue over his wicked-looking front teeth he lifted his enemy up a few inches off the ground. The Reaper made a sound most similar to "yeep", or perhaps a noise like a startled fowl would make, "Hah! I can't even kill ya. It'd be sho damn eashy it'd be _unfair_..."

With his tongue receding D-Roy's face transformed into a playful smirk, and he tossed his captive high into the air. The Soul Reaper "yeeped" again, scrambling to find footholds in the atmospheric reishi before he fell back down (he wasn't doing too well; he seemed to only be an amateur at flash step, or really any other move aside from "swing sword at target").

His eyes became as big as the bulbous mask piece on D-Roy's head as he saw the Arrancar dart up skyward to join him.

"'Wheee!', right?" D-Roy let out a cackle. It trailed off and his face went blank. He scratched his neck, "Enh, well, I'm bored. Nice meetin' ya!"

At the last word D-Roy wound up his best ass-kicking foot and booted the grunt out of the sky. The sound of his limp body crunching through the flimsy paneling of the supply van's roof made the skinny Arrancar wince and hiss though his teeth.

"Yowchiesh..." He descended to the roof, surveying his handiwork. Nice, three random Soul Reapers regretting the day they met the awesome D-Roy Linker, all in under three minutes. The gnashing cackle manifested itself again.

It stopped abruptly at the light swishing sound from behind him. A voice, this one a coo of a morning dove, made him turn.

"Have you killed all my men..?" The voice belonged to another Soul Reaper, this one a very petite woman, her hair coiling about her shoulders and waist like a very patient pale blue python. D-Roy made a slight choking noise as he noticed that the neck on this particular Soul Reaper's shihakusho was...very low.

"Uhhh..." _I can see the Valley of Wonders..._ "Th...They ain't dead."

"Oh, they aren't..?" The woman drew her sword, and D-Roy's gaze instantly snapped to it warily...for about three seconds, "Hmm. Then you're more sporting than you look."

_Heeeeey... _D-Roy's expression narrowed, suspicious, _She's insulting me..!_

"Hey, if you can't shay shomething nice..." D-Roy growled, but stopped when he realized that the female Reaper wasn't listening to him. Instead, she was rearranging her voluptuous hair and weaving it into a delicate pair of braids, "..! Are you even lishtening to me?!"

"Oh, sorry. I was getting ready."

"Getting ready? For what?"

"To fight," the Soul Reaper smiled sweetly. D-Roy's heart rate increased tremendously; he felt that any moment steaks of crimson blood might rocket from his nostrils, "We are going to fight, aren't we?"

"I think...Maybe..." D-Roy licked at a thin trail of slobber he'd just noticed creeping onto his left cheek, "Ehesheh...We don't _h-have _ta fight, ya know...?"

The Arrancar grinned and stared with a massive amount of greed into the canyon on the Soul Reaper's chest. She noticed this and curled her lip up in a snarl. Her zanpakuto raised a fraction of an inch higher.

"No, I think we do have to fight," she scoffed, fluffing one of the shimmering strands of woven hair from her shoulder. "And would you mind not drooling at me like I'm some piece of meat? Look, I know you're a Hollow and all, but it's very irritating..!"

"U-uh, sure sorry-_-_" The Soldado's head snapped up to her face suddenly. He bore a look that was just as insulted as her own now, "Wait a sec, I'm not a stinkin' Hollow!" He quite easily forgot her ravishing beauty (booty) and glared knives at her, dropping instinctively into a battle crouch, "Go on, call me a damn Hollow again, see what happens..!"

Staring at him blankly for a moment with her eyelashes whisking elegantly over her deep green eyes, the Soul Reaper gave a small smirk.

"Hollow."

_That's IT..! Cleavage or no cleavage_-_-_

"YOU'RE GONNA _DIIIIIIIIE_!" D-Roy finished his thought with a charge. Rage and painfully kicked dignity had built up in him and he forgot himself for that brief moment, throwing himself head-on at the readied enemy.

As he came within range he thrust out a stretched hand towards her neck, the rigid fingers shrouded in reiatsu sharp as fractured animal bone.

The Soul Reaper seemed to wait, poised on one slightly bent ankle, for the longest possible time until she chose to evade the attack. When she did, she tilted her blade up and raked him across his bare ribs with it.

"Yaaagh..!" D-Roy tracked the woman's flash step until she vanished from his periphery, the red haze lowering and his movements returning to a more disciplined set. He breathed raggedly not because of the severity of the wound, but to control himself better. He placed his free hand on the cut and winced as it smarted and twitched. Not too bad, no worse than sparring accidents. Only a quarter inch deep, maybe less. What surprised him the most is that her weapon had bit through his hierro so easily.

Eyes flicking around, D-Roy found his attacker again. She was almost directly behind him, winding her sword back for a thrust that he was sure she imagined would be a killing blow. He growled to himself and began to smile at the same time.

The Soul Reaper was mildly surprised that the blade swooshed air instead of piercing the Arrancar through as she had intended. But then again, her superiors had warned her that Arrancar were very advanced Hollows, so similar in skills and makeup to Konpaku and Soul Reapers that it was a shock that they were even Hollows at all. She licked her lower lip slightly and gazed upwards, spying the silhouette of the skinny man against the dropping moon.

D-Roy reached up and lifted some of the worn wraps from one side of his mask, unveiling his right eye somewhat. He also revealed his next move; a ruddy glow radiated from the eye, quickly focusing into a straining orb of pure energy.

"This," D-Roy huffed. "Ish for calling me a Hollow!"

The orb burst. A massive cone of destructive force ate up the space between he and she. The Soul Reaper's eyes widened as she tried to twitch out of the way, but fear stuck her to the ground and refused to let her legs go.

_**THOOOOOOM!**_

A portion of the theater's roof was disintegrated into rubble instantly, and what was left of the cero tore through the first two layers of asphalt in the parking lot beside it. A telephone pole, long out of use, creaked and toppled from having half of it's width removed near the bottom. D-Roy kept his eye uncovered and scanned the ground, hoping his enemy would turn up for a second dose.

"Ugh..!" A portion of concrete slab that had been tossed from the wall shifted and buckled, then shattered altogether. The Soul Reaper stood from where she had been crouching underneath, relatively unscathed.

D-Roy was startled, but angry. The glow lit up around the mask eye orbit shadowing his right eye once again.

"And this one..." He grinned savagely, "Ish for cuttin' my shtomach!"

The Soul Reaper was far more prepared for the attack this time. She stepped off from the ground and nearly disappeared for her speed, leaving the remains of the back stage room of the theater to be pulped yet again and another layer of road stripped.

She reappeared at D-Roy's side, slamming the hilt of her blade into the side of his head.

"Gah!" The Arrancar skidded in mid-air, ending up several meters away, clutching his jaw with hate dripping from the ends of his exposed fangs, "You...You _bitch_..!"

"Temper," she winked as she spoke. D-Roy watched in stunned silence as she ran a delicate hand over the shiny surface of the blade. Suddenly its edge got a malicious gleam of its own.

"Enhance." The pressure in the air above the theater doubled, and D-Roy took a wary step back, holding onto the loosened bandages over his mask fragment, "Miryoku mukudori."

Shimmering iridescent light exploded from the edges of the woman's katana, surrounding both D-Roy and his opponent in a shroud of shifting light patterns. D-Roy glanced around in awe, wondering if he should try to escape now, or rush her while her blade was in a state of releasing its power.

_Nah, can't do that_, he thought, dismissing the second option, _Just because she's a rude little bitch doesn't mean I gotta be one..._

The light gradually turned deep blue, almost invisible against the night sky. D-Roy prepared to dart down towards the ground and regroup himself, but found that his legs weren't responding.

"I...feel funny..."

The Soul Reaper fluffed her hair and giggled, lowering the tip of the zanpakuto towards his chest.

"The burn says it's working."

D-Roy's eyes doubled in size as he realized that not only his legs but his entire body was frozen in place.

_Oh...SHIT._

* * *

Author's Notes:

He'll be fine... right? O_O Poor D-Roy, always stuck fighting the deceptively strong chick.


	9. The Neighborhood Arrancar-Killers

The Crack of the Other Side

* * *

#9: Hi There, We're Your Friendly Neighborhood Arrancar-Killers!

* * *

"Good-bye, funny little Hollow..."

D-Roy felt screwed. The Soul Reaper had paralyzed him somehow, and he was rapidly losing ideas as to how to break free of this snare. He had only seconds, and those were counting down much too fast. The woman's zanpakuto was raised and ready to slice him. He crushed his eyes shut as he realized there was nothing he could do.

_SSHUNK!_

A sharp pain tore through him, then he felt a numbness in his head where the blade had penetrated. Dark blood soaked through the wrappings covering that old scar, the one place on his skull not protected by bone-hard mask fragment. Swiftly the Soul Reaper retracted the sword from the hidden wound and waited. D-Roy wobbled, fading in and out of consciousness, then fell. A faint crash announced that he'd landed on the remnants of the supply van, a somewhat uncomfortable cushion.

She watched. The still body didn't stir or dissipate like the Hollows did when she purified them. That was odd. Maybe they took longer to fade away?

She didn't have the luxury of time to think about what this meant. Something else was heading her way, and it was not one of her comrades...

* * *

Hisao stepped back a bit in suppressed terror as the Garganta closed. Where had it come from? There was no warning that it was about to open. And the lone occupant that had come through it, who was he?

An Arrancar, obviously. There was nothing else explaining that skeletal spike on the tall thin man's head. But Hisao hadn't expected one of them to feel so different up close. From afar he could manage, just a slightly unnerving aura. But now, right in front of him...

Shawlong's eyes went over the shivering seated officer with surgical precision, noting the drawn (shaking) blade and the determined (shaking) frown. He probed with his Pesquisa; nothing to worry about. As if dismissing the Soul Reaper he was unintentionally terrorizing he turned away, inspecting the Senkaimon with a sour look.

"You," he said without looking at Hisao. "Tell me. How many of your friends were sent here?"

"I-I'm not telling you that!" Hisao stood his ground, though the temptation to leap back into the Senkaimon and run away screaming was certainly there. These Arrancar_-__-_they were rumored to be the most powerful of Hollows...or... Hollow-like things..? His superiors had been less than clear about whether his enemies were really Hollows or not. He wasn't taking any chances, though, "I am under orders to guard this Senkaimon with my life, so know that!"

"Hmmm..." The Arrancar's cold stare penetrated Hisao. _The nerve of this...Never mind,_ Shawlong brushed off the thought. _He is only doing his job. I ought to be glad his job is not "destroy me at all costs" at the moment..._

To Hisao's surprise, Shawlong came to within an arm's length of him, eying him curiously. He had to lean down slightly to look him directly in the face as he wanted to.

"I would advise you to give this up and tell me anyhow," he said with a slight growl. "Unless you wish to make me angry..."

_Okay, that was definitely a threat,_ Hisao's thoughts raced but managed to stay coordinated. _Here goes nothing!_

Shawlong perceived the first impulses of the much weaker fighter's shoulder muscles before they even began to move. As the katana swooshed through the air toward him, he sidestepped it easily and then leaped. Hisao was left staring at the empty rock formation in front of him for the crucial quarter of a second before he heard the light tap of shoes on the ground behind him.

"Very slow."

"Sh-shut up!" Hisao's face turned into a beet, "I didn't ask you for a critique!"

"I know. I simply offered one." Shawlong smirked, "By all means, remain this slow if you like."

"Grr..." The Soul Reaper placed both hands on his zanpakuto, his face growing a small pulsating vein on the side of it, "You'll regret saying that!"

"Hmm..." The Fracción seriously doubted that, maintaining his stance of standing, fingers meshed behind his back, purely out of politeness and a piqued curiosity._ He's going to release... _Shawlong waited with stunning patience, watching Hisao crouched and waves of transparent energy surge around him before he could let out his full power, _Maybe it will be able to scratch me...Maybe._

"Here's hoping I don't die..." Hisao murmured so only he could hear. "Assemble-_-_Okina Taiho!"

"Assemble" is exactly what it did. The transparent reiatsu floating all around the sixth seat seemed to glow brighter for a moment, temporarily forcing Shawlong to shade his eyes with one arm. When the Arrancar looked again, the light was gone, and in the place of the shining orbs of light were machine parts of every odd and twisted proportion, all locking together around the Soul Reaper's right shoulder. Already he could discern the barrel of some kind of gun or cannon; its girth was immense. Slowly other portions of the shoulder-mounted Shikai put themselves together, forming a skin of armor down Hisao's right arm and part of that side of his chest. On the chest plate was a conspicuous triangular blue button. Shawlong narrowed his eyes at it, mentally keeping watch for any sign that his opponent was going to press it.

With a gun that size, you never could tell how powerful it was going to be. The Soul Reaper didn't seem particularly dangerous to him, but that cannon might be. He would have to wait and see.

He didn't have to wait long, as he suspected. Hisao smirked grimly, baring a few teeth as his left hand wandered to the all-important button.

"Eat this!"

Shawlong's eyes widened as the projectile showed itself. It was a massive glowing blue sphere, straining as if resisting the urge to explode from the energy packed into it before it even struck something. Shifting his feet into a more combat-ready stance, Shawlong took no chances. One of his hands flew forward, centering on the rapidly-approaching missile and emitting a sharp golden light.

The cero was narrow, but it struck its mark. Blue and gold met midway between the fighters, turning the entire rocky landscape greenish for a few brief seconds before the whole thing went up with a sound like a jet engine roaring overhead.

Shawlong squinted against the torrent of dust that was whipped back his way. As he expected, the orb had blown itself to bits in all directions. All except his, thanks to the countering cero. As the smoke cleared the Arrancar's keen black eyes searched the rubble and found Hisao's form gasping on the ground, knocked several hundred meters from where he had been standing before.

The Soul Reaper heard a faint buzz in the distance, then looked up to see a silhouette of his opponent looming over him. Shutting his eyes, he expected at any moment to feel a blade plunging through his ribs, or neck, of head, or... anything really.

"That's quite a devastating ability your zanpakuto has." Shawlong stared down impassively, "But it's also very predictable. And slower than it could be. What seat are you?"

"Whaaa..?" Hisao did not expect an interview. Shawlong was waiting for an answer though, and the Soul Reaper did not want to further frustrate the Arrancar. Especially one in his position, with a sword in easy distance, "S...Sixth... Of Tenth Company..."

"Hmmm, a Sixth seat?" He stood back, ruminating and giving the illusion that he was no longer paying Hisao much mind, "That's very impressive."

Hisao made his move, jumping upright and mashing the activating button on his chest again. But the Arrancar had disappeared, and someone had put a hand on his shoulder...

"But, as I said, it's slow, predictable," Shawlong said, gripping the startled Soul Reaper's arm harder and lifting him up off the ground. Hisao kicked and squirmed, but it was useless. With a flick of his wrist Shawlong sent him hurtling into a rock face, where he groaned and slid back down in a jumbled heap. The cannon on his back popped and fizzed, then reverted back to ordinary katana form.

Turning away, Shawlong noticed for the first time that something was amiss in the distance. Gasping sharply, he checked twice, then three times to make sure. But he was sure. D-Roy's presence had faded, almost to nothing. A few seconds later, Shawlong could sense nothing of his feisty comrade.

The sonic boom that echoed from his Sonído was the loudest and fastest yet.

* * *

Edorad went from laughing hysterically at Nakim's antics to standing straight up like a ramrod, eyes flicking about. Ilfort took a double take towards his larger friend and was about to ask what was the matter when Edorad bellowed it for him.

"What happened to D-Roy?!"

Ilfort would have shrugged, explained it away as D-Roy "doing his own thing, don't worry about him", were it not for the obvious. The pale-haired Soldado couldn't feel a trace of his weaker comrade anywhere.

But Ilfort was the first to notice something even more unsettling:

"Where did all those Soul Reapers come from?!" His hand immediately went to his belt, taking cautionary hold of Del Toro, "Those bastards got to D-Roy!"

Leaving the three hapless ghost hunters to whatever fate would befall them on their own, the three took off in a fanned out formation. Nakim took off in a much more literal sense; he took off a him-shaped hole in the roof, causing Zak, Nick and Aaron to squeal like girl scouts who had found a snake.

On the roof, the girthy Arrancar spotted a distant figure hovering in the sky. He was about to leap up towards the tiny dot when a sword came out of nowhere at him.

_CHANK! _

Nakim surprised the Soul Reaper that had attacked him with his speed, blocking the blade with his wrist and slipping out of the lock easily.

"Ooh, Fattie's not so slow, huh?" He was himself emaciated-looking, covered in black line tattoos to the point where he looked like a road map. Nakim reappeared behind him and swung a heavy fist at him, but the Soul Reaper had enough warning and dodged nimbly to the side. He ran his hands lovingly over the shimmery blade of his zanpakuto, disturbing the Soldado somewhat as he licked a dry spot on his upper lip.

"Who are you?" Nakim glared at his offensive face tattoos, spelling out vulgar expressions in zig-zagging text. He didn't trust this one not to attack him long enough to glance behind and see if the Soul Reaper that had assaulted D-Roy was still there.

"Ooh, sorry about that, fat boy!" The Soul Reaper cackled, holding his frequently petted weapon out in a slashing stance, "Name's Takeshi Muratori..." He charged, fangs bared and eyes bloodshot, "And I'll be your _killer_ this evening! Gyaahahahahah!"

* * *

Edorad, despite his growing anger that D-Roy had been struck down, found it in himself not to blow any new doors in any part of the building. He did rip one of the fire safety exit's doors completely off it's hinges in busting out of it, but that was beyond his notice. Panting and growling alternately, he came out on the side of the building and scanned the landscape through a red-tinted gaze.

"Ah... Found one."

Edorad turned towards the low voice, holding up one arm and blocking a diagonal strike as he did so. He was face to face with a frowning Soul Reaper with slicked-back black hair and small eyes of the strangest shade of pale grey he'd ever seen.

With a feral snarl, the big Arrancar pushed back against the sword, tossing his enemy back to where he had come from-the roof of a nearby water tower. Edorad barely even noticed the four or five other rank and file Soul Reapers surrounding him.

"Yeah, you found one, alright..." He smirked with his teeth still showing ferociously. One of the grunts ran forward, swinging his sword expertly... but not nearly strong enough. The blade bounced off Edorad's side and the large man himself swatted him further away with the back of his hand, "Ugh, gnats."

"Please." The officer gestured to the remaining conscious grunts, "Stay out of this, will you? I apologize for that, Arrancar. They are as eager to battle as you, it seems..." He jumped down, landing without disturbing a single gravel a few paces from the Soldado, "My name is Atsushi Wamumoto, the eldest of the two seventh seats of Sixth Company. Though I have often been praised for being more powerful than my position implies..."

"You'd better be." Edorad sneered, "I hate being disappointed."

"As do I." Atsushi's bored expression turned hard at Edorad's comment, "Hopefully what they say about you Arrancar is true, that you are more than just...big _dumb_ Hollows with extra powers."

"RRRAAAAH!"

Tipped over the edge, Edorad's fist slammed the asphalt where Atsushi had been standing a second before. Chunks of debris flew from him as he ripped his hand out of the hole it had punched in the ground and darted in pursuit after the Soul Reaper.

"You're gonna regret sayin' that..!" Edorad snarled as he caught up to the seventh seat, winding up a second time. Atsushi clicked his tongue and squatted under the blow, feeling the wind and shards of wood from where it had instead struck a telephone pole.

_Much stronger than he is fast_, Atsushi thought. _But still fast. But he can't be all that bright...My Shikai will ruin him..._

* * *

Ilfort felt the surges in spiritual pressure as both of his comrades found foes. He bit his lip and paused on top of one of the disused telephone poles, watching his periphery closer than he ever had before. There were still more of them, easily twenty more. But they were weak. He had thought he sensed another few that were significantly stronger, but now he was having trouble finding them.

_Crrnch... _Ilfort whirled around at the sound of gravel shifting to his right. Standing alone in the open, a young-looking man in full Shihakusho stared up at him with critical eyes.

"Stop right there," the Soul Reaper said. He unsheathed his sword and held it to his side. "You won't escape."

"Don't want to run..!" Ilfort could not help but curl his lip up in a sneer as he leaped down to the ground, his weapon also out and ready, "One of your pals just murdered one of mine."

The Soul Reaper shifted his footing, having no response for that. There was a shuffling of cloth, and he appeared much closer to Ilfort. Their blades clashed and it was clear which of the two was physically more powerful; Ilfort was taller and found it easy to press the Soul Reaper down into a deeper crouch.

"Unh!" The Soul Reaper had no choice but to break away, slipping out from under Ilfort's steady crush with a scrape of their blades. Ilfort found himself smiling to himself at the thought of avenging D-Roy's death. The Arrancar advanced, a Sonído bringing him right into his opponent's face.

The Soul Reaper seemed to predict Ilfort's attack. Just before the Arrancar slashed at him he thrust out with one foot, landing a strong kick in Ilfort's gut. The Soldado staggered back a few steps and coughed slightly before gaining his breath back.

"Ouch!" The Soul Reaper clutched his ankle and winced, "What was that..?!"

"It's called hierro, brother." Ilfort dove back towards him, "It means you shouldn't kick me, unless you want broken bones!"

"Hunhh..!" The sword had to be brought up again as Ilfort crashed his down towards his head, "Speaking of-_-_unh!-_-_what things are called, what do they call you?"

"Who's asking?" Ilfort grunted and pressed down harder, determined to make this one beg down on his knees before he killed him.

"Tsutomu Yokiyushi," he responded. Using a spurt of energy the Soul Reaper managed to push Ilfort back suddenly, stunning the Arrancar. "I'm a seventh seat of Squad Thirteen."

"Hunh, _seventh_ seat." Ilfort took a brief pause to sweep some hair out of his eyes, "Ilfort Grantz, though I don't have a power rank like that. All you need to know is that I'm a _lot _stronger than you, and you're probably gonna die."

"We'll just have to see about that..."

Simultaneously both Soul Reaper and Arrancar flitted out of view. In the skies above they came back together, sparks flying from their crossed blades.

Nearby, another voice could be heard scoffing from the shadows of an awning. Standing with his arms crossed, the dark-skinned leader of the killing squad of Soul Reapers adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose and turned to his left. There was Ayako, still watching that small Arrancar's body for signs of life or that he'd been purified. Elsewhere he could sense his subordinates starting to fight. The outcomes really didn't matter to him.

Even if his men and women all lost their battles, he was confident that he could hunt down and exterminate each Arrancar one by one...

* * *

Author's Notes: Oh Noes! D-ROY! D8

Battle will commence, and commence HARD in the next chapter! Tune in to see what happens..!


	10. Use the Force, D-Roy!

The Crack of the Other Side

* * *

#10: Use the Force, D-Roy!

* * *

Ayako yawned, having grown bored of watching the motionless body for nearly three full minutes. She could sense a lot more interesting scuffles breaking out all across the relative ghost town. Takeshi, Tsutomu and Atsushi all seemed to have found Arrancar which they thought were a match for them. The nearest was Tsutomu. The Soul Reaper fluffed her gorgeous pale blue hair and released it from its binds. She had finished with the funny little Hollow, so why not? Hugging her knees in midair, she swiveled her head to watch Tsutomu struggling to fend off the Arrancar he had chosen.

_Mmm...Not bad_, she thought, primping her hair some more._ Could do without that nasty horn, but overall..._

A crackling buzz sounded behind her. She stood quickly and jumped back, brushing shiny locks out of her face in annoyance. Glancing up, she came face to face with...Well, actually, she came face to chest with another of the warriors in white. Craning her neck back even further, Shawlong's face came into view.

_Eww...He's so old. Doesn't even have nice hair to make up for it either!_

Grimmjow's right hand man took the situation at a glance. He drew in a sharp breath upon seeing D-Roy's body, crumpled lifelessly in the splintered wood and aluminum paneling of what remained of the van. A pool of blood had begun to congeal around his head. Shawlong grimaced at the sight of the ghastly wound and looked towards the tip of Ayako's blade. As he suspected, blood was crimsoning it as well. It was unclear to him how long he'd been lying there. Probably not very long, if his body still remained. But that was only if D-Roy was truly dead. The thought gave him a small glimmer of hope for his foolish friend's survival.

But still he struggled to contain the rage steadily building up inside him at the thought of the boy being slaughtered. He allowed some to escape in the form of a frosty glare Ayako's way.

"You seem to have just killed one of my companions." He deftly liberated Tijereta from its scabbard, holding it half-raised already, "You'll find that I am not fond of murderers..."

"Well, you'll find that I don't like Hollows that much, so there." Ayako held up Miryoku Mukidori once more. She grinned fiendishly as the deep blue light spread from its source once again, knowing that no man could escape the secret power of her zanpakuto, "Now, why don't you get comfortable? I don't usually talk to older men, but...I think this time I'll make an exception!"

_What the hell is wrong with this one? _Shawlong raised one eyebrow as the light spread all around. He was starting to suspect that the Soul Reaper was _flirting_ with him...Flirting and threatening at the same time._ Flirting with death? _he chuckled inwardly.

A beat passed. Ayako smiled and swung her weapon down at her side, as if a child dangling a soft harmless toy. Shawlong's confused eyebrows switched places. The light her weapon had generated seemed to have had no effect, but she wasn't aware of it. She was either mad, or was in possession of an ability that gave her great confidence.

Except that this ability, whatever it was, had not done a thing to Shawlong.

Shifting his stance, Shawlong decided to end the annoyance.

Ayako was shocked as the fizzle of her enemy's Sonído sounded again, this time by her left ear. Turning, she had no time to raise her sword before Shawlong's strike reached her.

_SHHHANG!_

Shawlong blinked. A third sword had entered the space between them in a split second.

"It's easy to kill an insect, Arrancar," the owner of the sword said. His voice was low and menacing despite how calm it was. The Soldado glanced up, scrutinizing the dark-skinned face of a second Soul Reaper. His eyes were invisible for the glare off of a pair of thin-rimmed glasses. Shawlong withdrew his sword, stepping back for some distance from the new combatant. "But you shouldn't pick on someone weaker than yourself."

"Hmm...You're right." One look told him that this other Soul Reaper far outstripped Ayako. He had the stance of a practiced swordsman, his zanpakuto never once appearing to be separate from his arm, "And who would you be?"

"I am called Masaru Tenshikira." The Soul Reaper nodded, "I am the third seat of the 2nd Company. This." He pointed out the woman, quivering in place and staring watery-eyed at the Arrancar that had come inches from splitting her in half, "Is Ayako Akashingo, a fifth seat under me. And what might your name be, Arrancar?"

"Shawlong." The Arrancar was tensed like a spring. This Masaru's civility gave him mixed feelings; from experience he knew that Soul Reapers often fought (and killed) for sport. What was this one's motive? He seemed to be stepping in to defend his subordinate from death, but the introductions pointed to the other option.

He shrugged it off. Given that their two societies were currently at war, he scolded himself for even questioning why the third seat was attacking.

"Why...W-How..?" Ayako sunk to her knees, clutching her sword, "Why didn't it w-work..?! Mukidori is s-supposed to work on all m-men who see it..!"

"Shut up," Masaru dismissed her, eyes never leaving Shawlong's but missing the thoughts shifting and moving stealthily behind them. "Go and finish off that other one already."

"But...he's already-_-_"

"No it isn't," he snapped back. "Foolish girl. You ought to know by now that Arrancar disperse, just as any other Hollow would. He's been lying there for four minutes and twenty three seconds. He's either alive, or a freak of nature."

Shawlong slipped a glance D-Roy's way, catching a small movement on the part of the downed Arrancar. He was alive then? It didn't seem possible; he had been pierced through the skull. He had never known any person to survive a wound of that nature.

"A...Oww..." D-Roy came to, blinking rivulets of red out of his right eye, "What...owww..."

Pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, he felt a wave of dizziness and toppled backwards onto his butt. Shaking his head, he pawed at the blood-soaked bandages wrapping the gap in his mask and then stared at his hands, as if wondering how all the blood got there.

His eyes widened as he suddenly got an image of his last recollection-a katana blade disappearing beyond the field of view above his right eye.

"Aughhhh..._Again_..?" He found some strength and promptly used it to stand, wobbling on his feet a bit at first. Spotting his zanpakuto lying on the ground nearby, he crouched down for it.

_WHAPP!_

"Motherf-_-_" Ayako's foot sent him careening towards a chunk of brick wall that had survived the Arrancar's cero bombardment. This time, his mask did a fair job of protecting him. A sharp clack rang out, and he caught himself before he fell over, "Ouch! Couldn't ya shee I wasn't ready?!"

He blinked in surprise to see her moaning and clutching her foot on the pavement nearby. He gave a crooked grin as he figured out what happened.

"Hah!" he snickered, using one hand to hold up his sheathed sword and the other to apply some pressure to his skull wound. "Shervesh you right, you mean bitch!"

Ayako's eyes as she looked up from her sore leg were so vicious that D-Roy had a little fear put into him. She limped backwards a step, then lifted her sword. The blue glow began to radiate outwards again.

"_No one _calls me that," she seethed. "Now take a good long look, why don't you..."

"D-Roy!" Shawlong's voice transformed from soft and subtle to a hoarse roar, "_Close your eyes!_"

Whether it was to simply obey the other Arrancar's authoritative tone or due to D-Roy realizing what the outburst had meant, D-Roy listened and screwed his eyes shut. He was cast into darkness, completely blind to what his opponent was up to.

Until he felt a sharp pain begin to pierce his chest.

"GYAAH!" Thankfully for D-Roy, he possessed a sharp set of reflexes. And he used them, zipping straight up and avoiding the brunt of Ayako's sword thrust. He hovered somewhere above the ruined part of the building, panting and alarmed.

Ayako turned her fury towards Shawlong, still staring Masaru down.

"Hey!" she shrieked. "You're not supposed to get involved, old man!_ I'm _fighting the little guy and you can just butt out!"

_"Old man"...? _Shawlong felt his face becoming a bit uglier with annoyance. _I'm not...thirty...plus thirty-eight...add ten, maybe fifteen, for time as a Hollow..._

"Speaking doesn't count as being involved..." he pointed out, his voice back to one of non-urgency. Masaru chuckled, seeming amused by the banter.

"Indeed." The Soul Reaper glared down at his subordinate, "Well? I still see an Arrancar in your field. Deal with him."

"Y-yes, sir..." Ayako huffed, throwing her head back to remove voluptuous hair from her face. "So." She focused on D-Roy once more, "You're not gonna cooperate for me, are you? Well, that's okay. I can do the hard way."

_How am I supposed to fight someone if I can't look at them?! _D-Roy's chest was thumping with a heightened sense of peril,_ She nearly had me back there...If not for my special power-_

"W-Waah!" D-Roy yelped as another near-miss raked his back. Before the sword bit him too deep he broke away, swinging an unaimed kick backwards at where he guessed his foe might be. He struck only air, "Dammit! I can't fight like thish!"

"Works for me!" D-Roy jerked in shock at the cheerful voice in his ear. He bolted away, breathing heavily.

_I've never used Pesquisa mid-fight before... _D-Roy came to a stop in a place that he imagined was behind something. Or rather, he hoped was behind something,_ I guess I'll have to learn right now. _

_Gaaaah... _He shivered, _She's gonna kill meeeee...!_

_Oh, no she isn't..! _He was forced to scold himself. With a snarl pulling at his lips, his thought continued,_ I ain't getting killed by some Soul Reaper! If I wait long enough, she'll come right to me. And when she attacks, I can tell when she's about to hit me. Besides... _He peeked out from a narrow crack in his right eyelids, but then shut them tight out of fear of being paralyzed again, _I can hear, and I got Pesquisa...I got this..._

"Come out, come out, funny little Hollow~!" Ayako giggled and swished her sword back and forth, twirling it playfully. He had flitted somewhere inside the destroyed end of the theater, but she didn't really wish to follow. It was dirty down there. And as stupid as the scrawny guy seemed she still didn't think him incapable of setting up an ambush.

"I...AM _NOT_... A HOLLOOOOOOOW!"

A cone of red energy obliterated the roof D-Roy had been cowering under before, zooming straight for Ayako. Letting out a peep of surprise, she stepped swiftly out of the way, feeling a bit faint as the heat on the edge of the blast whooshed by her.

"Oof..." She caught herself in mid-air as she was pushed back by the huge force of the attack. She turned in time to see D-Roy, his bandages shifted so that they formed an improvised blindfold, rushing out of the crater behind the theater and charging in her general direction. Raising her sword, she parried a hand thrust that had found its way to her by sheer dumb luck, then ducked under D-Roy's rapid flailing of his sword.

"Enh! Shtupid...fighting blind..!" D-Roy quickly realized that he was attacking the sky and cast about, his head weaving in the air slightly like a snake trying to lock on to a warm-bodied critter. His field of view was black, and he could at times vaguely sense Ayako as a blueish light. But there were a lot of other blue lights as well, and some greener or whiter or even a few that had hints of yellows. Making a one-eighty, he picked up on Shawlong and Masaru, their spiritual pressures' brightness all but flooding out that area of the sky. He spun right as he noticed that corner of his awareness glow slightly.

Then, he felt a pinprick as Ayako thrust at him again. Expecting it somewhat better this time, D-Roy contorted himself away and threw a hard punch in the direction the sword had come. He was rewarded with a squeak and a grunt.

Ayako staggered, surprised that the Arrancar could figure out her sneak attacks and even respond accordingly. A bruise began to stain the right side of her ribs where D-Roy's fist had glanced off of them. Even a near-miss from one of these beasts really hurt! She shuddered to think of what a direct strike would do to someone without hierro...

"You're...over..." D-Roy swept his head around again, more confident now that the method seemed to be getting him results. A conspicuous light brightened up the space to his left, "There!"

_He's just sniffing around for me... _Ayako wrinkled her pert nose, _Ewww._

Ayako saw D-Roy coming and waited until he had wound back the arm clutching his zanpakuto. As the blade swooshed in, its trajectory a complete guess, the Soul Reaper pounced. Parrying it effortlessly, she gave D-Roy shock as he swept his foot out low expecting some legs to trip up...and felt nothing.

Balancing by both hands on her blade's handle, she swung herself up and over the Arrancar's head. Now behind her confused enemy, she whipped her sword back around and opened a new gash on his back.

"Y-Yoww!" D-Roy scuttled away, his head lowered and crouching defensively as he turned his head all around, "Where did...Unh! You little..!"

"Sorry, little guy," Ayako giggled. "But if you can't fight without looking at me, then you're in a big pickle. It doesn't even matter how strong you are...or aren't."

Breathing heavily, D-Roy lifted his head and "spotted" Ayako's flickering light directly in front of him. As he probed, a thought occurred to him. The Mukidori-or-whatever...hadn't actually improved his opponent's strength, speed, or energy output any. It was so like a cheat code on any one of the games he so loved to play. Maybe it gave infinite lives, or made you invisible to the little monster things chasing you. But one thing it didn't do was improve how you "played".

And real life was not a video game. D-Roy smirked.

"What'sh that about how shtrong I am..?" He held back the urge to cackle. He hadn't won yet; a victory laugh now would ruin the one later. Tightening his grip on his sheathed zanpakuto, he fidgeted with the handle a bit, "Sho...According to you, if I suddenly get a whole load tougher, it won't matter becaushe I can't shee?"

"Pssh, yeah." Ayako frowned, growing impatient and unsettled by D-Roy's shift in attitude. She would have preferred for him to continue flailing, growing more desperate. It wasn't a very fun battle without that, "Not like you can go and get that much stronger all of a sudden. We don't have all day here."

"Nah, no, no, no-_-_it won't take long!" D-Roy grinned and pulled the blade free. It felt a little wobbly in his hand; he wasn't all that great of a swordsman and hadn't practiced in quite a while. But there was one cool thing he could do with it!

"Fly!" He began to glow, "_Planaria!_"

"Wha...what?" Ayako blinked and sighed, "'Planaria'? Isn't that...a worm?"

"Yeah, so?"

Ayako made a disgusted face as the bluish-green glow around D-Roy intensified, beginning to overpower her eyes. Which was probably a good thing when she thought about it; she didn't want to see the details of the transformation.

Especially when the light died down and she chanced a peek at the end result.

"Uugh!"

"What?" D-Roy was unchanged from the waist up. However, below that point a gargantuan skeletal head, a copy of what D-Roy's mask fragment looked like except with a fully formed mouth seemed to have spawned from his nether regions. And beyond that long coiling lengths of what looked like the armored body of a flatworm-like creature sprouted. Its sides had what looked like reddish spines protruding from them, each one flattened and streamlined. Also, D-Roy himself was proportionally bigger. Even without his legs, he still loomed a full foot taller than he had before. Ayako shuddered: Gross, "I know... Shexy, right? I mean, I can't tell sho much, the whole 'blindfolded' thingy..."

"Wait, wait." Ayako rested one hand on her forehead, rubbing stressed temples, "You said 'Fly'. How in hell does a worm fly?"

"Like thish!"

Before Ayako could prepare D-Roy launched his new mass forward. She just barely missed being plowed over by dropping to the ground. It had been close. A lock of her lustrous bangs was now absent.

"Ooh, what'sh thish?" D-Roy screeched to a halt, leaning over and plucking the missing hair from the whirring spines on his flanks, "Thish your hair or shomething? Kehsheh, damn. I almost got ya!"

* * *

For a long while the two leaders of either side stood like statues, deadlocked a few meters away from each other. Each was giving the illusion of paying heed to the fight between the lesser warriors, but in reality they were both planning their first moves. Or figuring out how to counter their opponent's.

Inevitably, one of the two became impatient.

Shawlong was standing poised and calm one second. A quarter of one later he was in Masaru's face, the blade of Tijereta coming around low with a speed that no ordinary human could hope to match.

_SHIING!_

Masaru parried and immediately parted, slipping sideways and darting in from a different angle. Shawlong stood his ground, knowing that the Soul Reaper was capable of much more. Barely even shifting his stance, he countered Masaru's slashing blows with a pair of thrusts, forcing the third seat to bring his weapon back in order to block.

Masaru jumped back, cracking his neck.

"It's a very good thing I stepped in before you got to Ayako," he said. "You would have cut her clean in two. You're the best of this batch of Arrancar, aren't you?"

"That's a very subjective question, Soul Reaper," Shawlong's tone was dry, if not a little sarcastic. He disappeared with a static crackle and reappeared beside his enemy. Masaru brought his sword up, blocking the downward chop just in time. "If you mean 'best' in terms of fighting prowess... Then yes, I am."

The Soul Reaper's pale eyes spotted the movement too late. Ducking below him, Shawlong swept one leg at his ankles. The Soul Reaper tried to jump, but one leg was snagged anyhow and he fell off balance. Leveling out his sword the Arrancar stabbed towards the unsteady Soul Reaper.

_WHOOSH..._

Masaru evaded with a back flip, saving his skin but not necessarily his Shihakusho. A shred of the black fabric floated down towards the blasted landscape. Shawlong prepared to attack again, but stopped as the Soul Reaper's shoulders began to shake with laughter.

"Hah!" Masaru grinned, holding up his zanpakuto in a careless hand, "You're not joking, huh? That's great news-_-_you can be the standard to which I hold all of your friends when I've finished with you."

"Hmmm..." Shawlong could begin to feel himself hate the bastard, despite his desire to keep the fight clean, "Soul Reaper... Overconfidence is generally not a desirable trait."

"But I'm not being _over_confident," Masaru continued grinning as he responded. "I'm just confident enough. Of course I know you _could_ kill me, just like a poisonous insect or some other small pest _can_ kill a lion if they try hard enough...Or get lucky."

"Which one counts more, do you think-_-_effort or luck?"

"Effort by far. Meaning that you will have to work to beat me, Shawlong."

"I expected as much." Shawlong nodded, assuming a combative stance again, "But this is an egalitarian battle, remember."

"And what do you mean by that?" Masaru sniffed.

The air seemed to distend outward slightly as Shawlong let his full power begin to rise to the surface. His Sonído, now doubly swift, took him right behind the third seat.

"It means that _you_ will also have to work to beat_ me_..."

* * *

Author's Notes: ...

D-ROY LIVES! D-ROOOOOOOOOY JENKIIIIIIINS!

And another bad-ass Shawlong moment..! There's... a lot of those... Seriously, that guy was cool.

Kubo, quit making awesome characters and then killin' 'em off first chance you get! X(


	11. A Can of Whupass

The Crack of the Other Side

* * *

#11: Opening Up That Can of Whupass That's Been Sitting Around...

* * *

Nakim found that this Takeshi Muratori's presence caused him to become an instant master of raising one eyebrow in alarm. He felt a wave of disgust as a thin silvery strand of saliva made its way down the Soul Reaper's grinning cheek. Seconds passed; he didn't do a thing about it. Nakim's eyebrow rose ever higher as he fought the urge to get the bastard a freaking napkin or something.

"Gyeeyahahahahah!" Finally, Takeshi spoke. Or, rather, he cackled wickedly once again-_-_it seemed to be nine of every ten words he knew. Nakim tried to look the unnerving enemy in the eye but his gaze kept getting drawn to his foe's obsessive stroking of his zanpakuto, "Gyaha... Now hold still, fattie, and I'll make this quick an' easy!"

The Arrancar had no intention of holding still. Expecting to hear the faint shuffling of flash step somewhere around him, he prepared to react accordingly. His stronger fist clenched, though he held his weapon higher in his weaker hand to draw attention away from his real plan.

But Takeshi didn't make a move.

At least, not the move that would be expected according to Arrancar battle etiquette...

"Tear him to pieces..." The Soul Reaper's facial slur tattoos distended in a savage grin, "Akai Shatsu!"

An ominous crimson glow welled up around the blade of Takeshi's zanpakuto, then spilled out in long dribbles as if the light were some kind of radioactive blood. It pooled at the seventh seat's feet, then arched back up to surround the entire weapon and the arm that held it. Nakim squinted and his raised eyebrow got more exercise, turning downward in a scowl.

"It's rude to release first thing," he said. "It's like you don't even _want_ to fight me..."

"Oh, you _can_ talk!" Takeshi's voice drifted out of the sanguine fog enveloping the roof. The fog began to clear, glints of numerous dark-colored blades beginning to poke out, "I thought you were dumb or something. Gyaahahaha! Go on, say something else, fattie! It cracks me up!"

"Hnrr..." Nakim wanted very much to say something else, something to shut the annoying man up. But it wouldn't do much good. If there was something he knew about loudmouths, it was that they don't shut up for anything. Especially not more words.

"Awww... Ah, well!" Takeshi took a step forward, displacing even more of the reddish mist, "By the way, fatboy, I ain't here to fight you, I'm here to _kill _you! I don't wanna cross blades, I wanna put mine in your fat head!"

"Grrrrr..." Nakim's grip turned white on his zanpakuto, "You are one sick f*_*_*..."

"Gyehahaha! Yeah, that's more like it!" Takeshi's face was briefly visible beyond the settling redness, just as distorted and disturbing as ever, "Wow, I never pegged ya for guy who could cuss!"

"That's_ it_...!" The Arrancar snarled, flipping his zanpakuto backwards in his hand. Takeshi stared, for once dumbfounded, at why his opponent would hold his sword in such a manner, "You... are in need of a lesson in _manners_..."

"Yeah, so?" Takeshi's grin was slightly nervous this time, "What, you gonna teach me? Gyahaha-_-_"

"Yes..." Nakim's small eyes were hot as volcanoes, "I am going to_ teach _you...!"

"Gyaaha...ha..." Takeshi was frozen as Nakim thrust his sword into the ground by his left foot, watching with a stunned expression on his scrawled-over face as the blade began to glow dark green.

"Grow..." The blade seemed to begin increasing in size and brightness, the light quickly overwhelming the Soul Reaper's senses, "Enorme!"

Blinking away water that flooded his eyes from the brightness, Takeshi suddenly felt an immense shadow fall over him. Peering up, his jaw went slack. Nakim, now easily twice the height of the old theater, was armored with a muddy brown skin from neck to ankles. His face was concealed behind the complete version of his mask, and only tiny pinpricks of the streetlamps reflecting off the surface of his eyes showed beyond it. His knuckles were equipped with hefty studs, yellowy-brown ivory-like spikes-_-_his ankles were armed in a similar manner. Glaring down from his new sky-scraping vantage point, Nakim's mask fragments parted slightly as he growled down at the ant that was Takeshi.

"This..." He lifted one fist slowly, "Is why releasing first is rude!"

Takeshi smirked, watching the fist wind back at snail's pace. He lifted a pair of multi-pronged blades with a chain between them and prepared to hack and slash the approaching fist.

"Bring it, fatt-_-_"

_**GGGSHH!**_

Unfortunately for Takeshi, it was not the slow-moving fist that he had to worry about. Nakim lifted his foot from where he had smashed it down and scraped a bloody mess from the bottom of his now-giant shoe. Nakim wrinkled his nose in disgust and was briefly thankful that the shoes remained in this form.

* * *

"Graaaaah!"

The one who called himself Atsushi Wamumoto darted to the side as Edorad's reiatsu-cloaked fist slammed the brick wall he had been standing against. Pieces of masonry and mortar flew about, stinging the Soul Reaper's face and bouncing harmlessly off the Arrancar's. Flitting upwards, Atsushi tried putting some distance between himself and his dangerously strong enemy. Settling on a light pole, he murmured under his breath the words to the spell in the few seconds he had to spare.

Edorad tracked the seventh seat's flight, eying the light pole with an unnerving gusto. He'd never had the opportunity to do battle in an urban setting before, and there was so much new infrastructure to destr-_-_er..."prepare for replacement". Barreling towards the base of the tall metal pole, Edorad's ear caught snatches of mildly familiar verse... Kido. He couldn't remember the exact spell, but he'd know once it was fired. He didn't doubt it would be an easy one.

"Hado Forty Two..!" Atsushi was nearly through his casting before his perch became unstable. Edorad grinned up at him as he wrapped his huge mitt around the base of the pole and squeezed, popping the top half of the structure off and letting it crash to the ground, "Unh! Shimoku!"

_Now what is that one again..? _Edorad wondered. He was answered with a thick shower of acid-smelling sludge careening towards his head, _Oh! The poison goo one!_

Atsushi was not quite arrogant enough to assume that mid-level Kido fired with ample warning would be enough to win the battle. Leaping from the toppled light pole, he settled again on the roof of the water tower and kept his senses tuned on his immediate surroundings. This Arrancar was quite an aggressive fighter, doing whatever it took to stay in the attacking position. No doubt he would pop up somewhere nearby, and unleashing another assault to keep his head down in the process. The black fluid from the Shimoku was flooding away-_-_flat, not a trace of any figures caught underneath the highly poisonous sludge.

A creak and a static noise sounded over his head, and the Soul Reaper lifted his sword in time to divert Edorad's palm. The Soldado was grinning like a demon as he thudded down in the spot where his enemy had recently vacated. For a brief few seconds they appeared to catch their breath, staring each other down from across the rusted steel width of the water tank.

"What's the matter!" Edorad barked, cracking his knuckles. "You been running the whole fight. Are you tired yet?"

"Running?" Atsushi almost smiled, but the attempt died off into a sneer before it fully decided on what expression it was going to be, "On the contrary, I have just been feeling your abilities out. Quite impressive. Not quite the ungodly power I was expecting from the mightiest class of Hollows, but..." Atsushi shifted his stance, sliding one foot further back as he leveled his sword out flat, "Challenging all the same."

Edorad smiled rather than snarling (as he would have loved to do), failing to hide the tic nagging his eyebrow and betraying his true feelings. He'd called him a Hollow _again_. It was hard to restrain himself enough to continue with proper fighting manners. It was tempting to launch right into Volcanica, melt some concrete and Soul Reaper face, teach the moron just how offensive his Arrancar-equals-Hollow assumption really was from the horse's mouth, but... That would be rude. They'd only been exchanging blows for four or five minutes at most. Truth be told, Edorad was far from simply charging around after Atsushi.

Atsushi prepared to leap. He knew the Arrancar was doing just as he was; he was feeling out his opponent, otherwise his lousy half-hearted flash step would have resulted in a large seventh seat smear on the sidewalk by now. Now that they were both sufficiently warmed up and sure that either side was soft-stepping it, he could go ahead and move full speed.

And strike at full strength.

_CHANNG! SHHNGG!_

Atsushi's downward chop and the swing that followed it were both deflected, but this time by Edorad's blade and not his hands. Atsushi blinked in shock as he tugged to bring his weapon away but found that the Arrancar had grabbed a hold of it in his other hand. Their eyes met, so Atsushi spotted the look of fiendish delight crossing Edorad's face before he yanked him in closer. The Soul Reaper had no choice but to give up his zanpakuto before he was slammed through the metal roof of the water tower.

"Heheheh..." Edorad held up the purloined weapon, grinning teasingly, "Oh, Atsuhi or whatever... You dropped something!"

"So I did..." Atsushi eyed his sword dangling from the two fingers the Arrancar was holding it with, "Would you be so kind as to give it back?"

"Sure..." Edorad chuckled heartily and wound his pitching arm back. Atsushi barely had time to duck before he winged it back, spinning, right back at him. Behind him there was a ping of metal on metal as the zanpakuto-turned-chakram bounced off another of the decrepit light poles, "Oh, you didn't catch it, sorry. Better go and get it!"

Atsushi guarded his back with one pale eye as he fetched his blade humiliatingly from where it was half-buried in the base of a light pole. He doubted the Arrancar would wait for him to re-arm himself, but to his surprise, Edorad did. As the sword came free of the battered steel the Soul Reaper glanced back up to the top of the tower. Edorad was still there, hulking arms crossed over his barrel-like chest and his shoulders shaking slightly from having forced the Soul Reaper to retrieve his own sword after it nearly killed him.

Edorad's interest was piqued by Atsushi's sudden sigh. Peering down over the rim of the tower's top, the Arrancar watched carefully as the seventh seat held out his sword at a thirty degree angle to his forehead.

_I should keep back_, he thought. _When zanpakuto are released, they get a boost of power at first. Being near that's bad news. _

"Cloak them in darkness." The sword lit up bright white, but the light did not radiate outward, only shone within itself. Edorad blinked and uncrossed his arms. The light seemed to be growing smaller, shrinking into the clenched palm of his expressionless enemy. But where the light receded, the shine of the lamplight and starlight on steel did not reappear. Atsushi's sword seemed to have dissolved into nothing, "Ka Garasu."

_"Cloak them in darkness"? Must be one of those element-based Shikai... _Edorad fixed his stance, now on the defensive as he was unsure of Atsushi's abilities, _Either that, or it affects the senses. It's not the most obvious command ever, but, enh... Good enough._

He was shoved out of his thoughts by the sight of the unarmed Soul Reaper speeding towards him, one open palm extended as if he were rushing in to grab hold of his face. Edorad leaned back as he approached, slipping to the side and letting the seventh seat sail past.

"Unh!" The Arrancar jerked in alarm upon feeling a sharp sting in the shoulder. Glancing over to inspect the wound, he was shocked to find Atsushi perched on the effected limb, the hand opposite the one he had been charging Edorad with planted on the muscle just by his neck.

"My peers tell me I'm quite speedy," Atsushi said, twisting his wrist. Edorad grunted as he noted the tearing pain from the lightly bleeding area underneath the unwanted hand. Temporarily stunned, his swat was a bit less coordinated that usual and the Soul Reaper dodged it nimbly with space to spare. "Though honestly, that one step was a bit better than my average."

"Which step are you talkin' about..?" Edorad was staring at Atsushi's open palm, the right one, stained with a bit of bright red blood. More specifically, he was focusing on what looked like a silvery dart protruding from the center of it, sharp and armed with four serrated edges. So he wasn't unarmed after all. This spike had been what was spearing his shoulder.

Atsushi seemed to brighten at the Arrancar's statement, looking pleasantly surprised that Edorad thought to ask such a question.

"The second one, naturally. I'm surprised you noticed me taking more than one."

"You know, it'd pay to stop being so surprised by what I can do."

"By all means, I will now. Now that I'm aware of your... relative skill." The Soul Reaper took a pause to chuckle. A vein throbbed on Edorad's temple, "Unfortunately for you, skill means nothing to Ka Garasu. She is very much an equalizing sort of zanpakuto; she's a handicap, to word it differently."

"I take it you're gonna demonstrate what you mean instead of explaining it, huh?" Edorad snorted. Atsushi nodded and allowed himself a slight smirk, running two fingers over the ragged edge of one side of the bloodied weapon.

"Hunh, I really was underestimating you. How observant. But you're right, I do believe showing is always more effective than telling." Atsushi bent at the knees, preparing for launch, "Now, if you wish to see for yourself, hold still and cooperate for me..."

Edorad crouched, readying himself for another head-on charge and letting one broad hand creep over to the hilt of Volcanica. Seconds later, Atsushi vanished.

"What the hell?!" Edorad straightened for a second, dropping his sword hand unconsciously. His confusion only doubled when the deep blues and purples of the night sky over the desert town turned to sudden carmine red, "Th-the sky is..!"

"Changed? Turned a different color?" A voice above him whispered. Hissing through his teeth for letting himself get caught off guard, Edorad brought himself out of the line of Atsushi's fire in a twitch-like Sonído. A blast of fire from what could only be a Shakkaho spell turned the metal roof of the tower liquid orange and it caved in, the stagnant waters below squealing in agony.

The large man landed on a nearby brick building, its normal dusky brown hue now warped into a violently bright purple. Edorad's eyes flicked this way and that, scanning the roof tops and streets for any sign of his opponent. He knew that Atsushi was the cause of the strangeness, but there was no sign of him. He had been right above him, but invisible to both his eyes and Pesquisa.

"Well..." Edorad let out a heavy breath and forced his face into a stone-like expression. No taking chances; he drew out his sword and held it ready to counter any sneak attacks, "This is a pretty fishy Shikai, eh..." He glared hard at where he had last seen the Soul Reaper, "Let's just see what this is all about first... No need to use what I don't need."

* * *

Author's Notes: Give big dudes some love, everybody! W00t for Nakim and w00t for Edorad! Seriously, these guys deserve more appreciation than they get! ...Kind of like the rest of the Grimmjow fanclub... Hmph!


	12. Damn Is Right

The Crack of the Other Side

* * *

#12: Damn Is Right!

* * *

Ilfort grunted and kicked off the ground at full speed; Tsutomu had taken the fight to the sky. He could see the meek silhouette of the plain-looking man against the moon, holding out his zanpakuto in kendo style, crossing his chest and ready for the Arrancar to charge.

Midway through pulling his sword back for a thrust towards his enemy's face, Ilfort stopped, his gaze snapping to his left. Where once he sensed nothing was now a significant presence-_-_D-Roy! For a moment the pale-haired Soldado was taken aback at his small friend's seemingly sudden revival. He hovered in place several meters from the seventh seat, staring wide-eyed and trying to work out how it was possible.

Tsutomu paused, then restrained the urge to flinch. What was the Arrancar planning? Why had he stopped? Was this an optical illusion, with this Ilfort fellow's real location directly behind him, getting ready to sever his head? But no, none of these seemed to be the case after several seconds. Following the Soldado's gaze, Tsutomu was met with the sight of the back of the half-destroyed theater beyond several lightly damaged buildings. A brief flash of a crimson red cero being fired from the rubble caught his eye, and then his spiritual senses caught up. The weaker presence, one of the Arrancar that had invaded the Living World with Ilfort, was back.

"So D-Roy's okay..." Ilfort sighed, mixed relief and uncertainty. Yes, his friend was fine, but he was still locked in combat...

D-Roy was fairly tough for an average Soldado Fracción... But toughness clearly was not the issue here. He had already been knocked out of commission, how long until he made a mistake and was out forever?

_Speaking of being locked in combat_... Ilfort stared back up at Tsutomu, curling his lip as he noticed he too was looking on D-Roy's battle, _Bastard...!_

"Hey," Ilfort called up to the distracted Soul Reaper, bringing him back to a state of heightened alertness. "Are you going to stand there all day watching my buddy beat down your friend, or are we going to start fighting again?"

Before Tsutomu could answer, Ilfort's reaching hand was inches from his throat. Twisting away skillfully, the Soul Reaper felt a bead of sweat forming as he stepped away and zipped down to the ground searching for a safer battleground. Above, Ilfort was still coming, growing larger in the seventh seat's field of vision by the second. Tsutomu barely managed to jump back behind a dumpster, then roll out of the shadow of the metal bin as a pair of balas chased him. Panting heavily, he was forced to step back as a twisted hunk of the dumpster's lid crashed to the ground in front of him.

Ilfort stepped out of the alley where he had fired the balas from. He furrowed his brow; Tsutomu didn't seem like he should be evading his attacks that easily, especially balas-_-_the definition of a swift attack. He was only a seventh seat! Either this Tsutomu was lying, or he was desperately in need of a promotion from a slow bureaucracy.

"Damn..!" Tsutomu slouched in his stance, wiping sweat from his cheek with the back of one hand, "You're really tough... Are all you Arrancar this tough?"

"Doesn't really matter to you if we are or not. You won't be seeing any more of us!" A third bala nicked the bottom of Tsutomu's sleeve as he jumped away again. Ilfort didn't show it, but he was breathing nearly as hard as his Soul Reaper opponent.

Tsutomu glanced down at the smoking remnants of his left sleeve, then had to raise his sword quick to block the Soldado's incoming fist before it shattered his flesh along with his clothes. He stared in mounting anxiety as the Arrancar's bare skin grinding against the flat of the blade began to produce sparks. And push him backwards. Tsutomu's ankle bones ached as his feet began to crack the surface of the old concrete.

Ilfort ignored his knuckles beginning to grow raw, making one final push. Tsutomu's feet finally broke through the surface of the road and were embedded inches deep into the dry crust of soil underneath. Stepping back, Ilfort waited until the tell-tale "whoa!" of the Soul Reaper going off balance and then slashed diagonally with Del Toro directly at Tsutomu's throat.

* * *

For a second the sky above the theater front appeared to be empty.

Then Soul Reaper and Arrancar zoomed into view again, seeming to materialize from thin wisps of spiritual power meters from clashing together. Shawlong and Masaru's blades came together with a pronounced flash of sparks, and the much taller man searched for a weakness in the dark-skinned Reaper's grip. He found one, just barely.

Masaru felt as if a chunk of iron had been bashed into his side. Shawlong withdrew his foot and whirled, winding up the momentum behind Tijereta as he brought it up above where the Soul Reaper had lowered his own blade from the pain.

The third seat whipped his head back, preventing it from being severed, and the rest of his body followed in the short lull between the Arrancar's strikes. He landed back on his feet with a skid backwards and a cough into the back of his hand. Peering down, he squinted at the fine list of blood droplets settling on his skin.

"Good form." He wiped the red specks onto his shihakusho.

"Thank you." Shawlong adjusted his assault, coming up from the left side and flicking Masaru's slashing sword aside as his target tried to block him. Before he could straighten back up, the Reaper was upon him, showing off his true speed in a series of well-aimed swipes and thrusts. The Fracción parried and countered as best he could, only retreating from the face-off at the sound of ripping fabric on his right. Lighting on the top of a telephone pole, he glanced down at the shoulder of his uniform and found that some of his skin had become mysteriously exposed, "Hmm... That was fast..."

"I'll be cutting your skin next," Masaru's voice sounded behind him. Stone-faced, Shawlong flipped his sword upside down in hand and struck out behind him. There was a harsh grinding of steel; Shawlong turned to face the ambushing Reaper with a shake of his head. "What? Not convinced?"

"I prefer to see something to believe it."

"Then be patient. Eventually you'll make a false step." Masaru's grin was smugger than a shark's on sight of a wounded herring, "And when you do, I'll be waiting."

_ZZHANG!_

Shawlong's afterimage was still partly visible as Masaru was forced to turn on his heel and block the surprise downward chop. The Soul Reaper buckled momentarily under the superhuman pressure the Soldado was putting on his sword, then he ducked out. Shawlong saw him go and pursued.

A shadow fell over Masaru mid-flash step. Out of the corner of his bespectacled eye he could see the blurred image of the Arrancar frowning down at him, Tijereta's edge flashing down toward him.

Grimmjow's man had expected a lot of the twists and turns that Masaru had thrown him. But he did not expect his sword to slip right through his forehead with no resistance. The lack of blood immediately put him on alert; the third seat was not where he appeared to be. Sensing a change in the air behind him, he twisted around as quick as his full speed would allow.

_SSHHKKK!_

"Unh..!" Shawlong pulled away from where the Soul Reaper's zanpakuto had stung him in the lower flank, the side of his free hand practically back-handing the offending weapon away by the flat of it. As soon as he had Masaru squarely in his sights and was a comfortable distance away the same hand wandered down to the new injury. It was nearly one of his knuckles deep. Much too close.

"Hnnph!" Shawlong flicked his wrist to clear the blood from it, "You certainly know how to keep your word." His tar-grey eyes wandered. How had he managed to lose track of his opponent's movements? This third seat was phenomenally fast for his rank, but he was not swifter than Grimmjow's Primos Soldado. He concluded it must have been some skillful use of Bakudo, an illusory one. It would have to be skillful; Shawlong had heard nothing of any sort of Kido chant, not even a murmured spell name.

Masaru held his zanpakuto up close to the shining lenses of his glasses, inspecting the thin smear of Arrancar blood tarnishing its surface. He reached one hand into the opposite sleeve and removed a pale green handkerchief. As he cleared the reddish stain away, he stared levelly at his target.

"I try my best." He smirked. The light from one of the nearby street lamps (that was not destroyed at present) glared off the squares of glass and obscured his true expression. Lowering the handkerchief and letting it flutter away in the light winds over the desert town, Masaru gave a short nod of approval towards his blade, "But honestly, all of this half-hearted back and forth has me a little bored. I believe I'm ready to release my full power. What say you?"

_Bored of me? _Shawlong's scoff was almost microscopic, but it was certainly there. _Well, there's the illusion of respect right out the window._

"If you're bored already, then perhaps you are in the wrong line of work," Shawlong chuckled. "But if that's how you feel, I'll oblige you..."

Masaru's face became blank. Shawlong's followed suit, noting the build-up of reiatsu around his enemy. The Soul Reaper raised his sword once again, balancing the flat of the blade upon his closely-laid palms.

"Reave," he said, barely audible over the faint rumble emanating from the slightly vibrating blade. Two narrow streams of light like the whiskers of a catfish of pure white energy began to extend from the tsuba of the thrumming zanpakuto. "Kuro Girochin."

A vast outpouring of power rushed past Shawlong, whipping his single braid about until it rested upon his shoulder. With a shrug he tossed it back into its normal position before preparing his own release.

He was settling the hilt of Tijereta on his palms, fingers extended carefully and pointed away from his body, when the jangle of many blades made him look up. Soaring towards him a hexagonal ring of what looked like razor blades closed in on him, catching him by surprise directly on the chest.

Masaru's grinning visage materialized from the white fog. His sword now bore a pair of glimmering rope-like strands. These strands trailed off, on and on-_-_extended all the way to the pile of smashed rubble where the puppet-like ring of death had buried Shawlong. The Soul Reaper's grin grew wider upon seeing the tip of Tijereta's blade jutting from the shattered fragments of bricks. Moments later, the tip of the sword slipped, falling into the space where Shawlong had fallen seconds before, gone from sight.

The third seat sunk to the cracked ground, calling his Shikai's six blades back to him. The street was quiet for a moment. Then it was broken by the Reaper's dry chuckles.

* * *

It was quiet also in Hueco Mundo. The late autumn night had not warmed since that fateful evening when the alarm was raised and the mystery Soul Reaper woman had been chased from the watchtowers. The moon shone slightly brighter, its phase turned to the waning side and casting a bit more reflected silver light down onto the White Desert sands.

Atop the great domed roof of Las Noches a different woman stood. She clearly belonged there. Clad in Soldado colors, her hakama swished as she paced back and forth on her rounds at the third tower, the tapering train of her overcoat fluttering slightly above the ground. Her great height dwarfed the average man, her flame-orange hair sticking up only slightly, its length shorter than that of most of the female Arrancar.

Also atypical was her spiritual weapon. No slender, versatile katana or saber for her-_-_her zanpakuto was a massive broadsword of the Celtic style. It was strapped across her back by three black sashes. She carried it with no fuss.

Well...

She did have something to complain about this night, but it had little to do with the weight of her sword. Shawlong was supposed to be coming to the top of Las Noches to relieve her very soon, but there was no sign of the fellow Sexta Fracción yet. Odd behavior for him, especially considering his Primos Soldado status. He wasn't Grimmjow's right hand Fracción for nothing, and the ability to shove enjoyment and silliness aside in order to perform uncomfortable duties was optimal for a Primos position. Given the size of Grimmjow's following there ought to have been two Primos... But Grimmjow couldn't decide which of his other companions to promote. The woman had had a feeling she was up there, probably tied with Edorad. Maybe Ilfort hovering in the promotable range as well. Not as likely as her and Edorad tied, though.

"Damn..." She looked down at her watch with the frustration practically turning her lime green eyes blood red, "Shawlong, you're five minutes late, man... Where the hell'd you go ta?"

She spotted a loose bit of masonry, knocked free from the chinks in the colossal slabs that constructed the giant indoor city. Striding over in long steps, she kicked it fiercely, just held back enough to keep from powdering the rock. It zinged out over the precipice and sank out of sight. She listened.

She waited.

She began to tap her foot impatiently, then paused for a moment with her ear cocked towards the sheer edge of the walls.

_...Thunk!_

"Gah. That's six minutes now."

Shifting her broadsword across her back, she hissed through her teeth and headed for the interior of the monolithic fortress. Lateness be damned, if her watch was up it was up, and she was taking no crap for leaving it without a replacement. Were it D-Roy or Yorick or maybe even Ilfort late for one... well, that'd be a different matter. She could find the patience to wait for them there.

But Shawlong... She supposed she held that one to a bit of a higher standard.

"Oi, Primos fella," she said in a coarse bark as she passed by Shawlong's quarters, pounding it twice with her calloused fingers. "Wakey-wakey, man. You'd better be dead or _really_ enjoyin' yourself in there!"

There was no response. As swiftly as her sarcastic temper had flared it was replaced by deathly seriousness... kind of.

"Oh, Lady Irony, you_ trick_," she muttered as she braced her shoulder for the impact. "Don't ya _dare_ make me eat my words cuz they taste like _shit_..."

**_CRRSH!_**

The door hung haphazardly on one hinge after what she judged to be a firm mash of the shoulder on the door. Entering like a storm cloud, she went immediately to the immaculate bed and ripped off the covers.

"Tch..." She flopped the covers back on the empty mattress with a snort, "Shoulda guessed."

"What the hell're you doing, Jesmee?"

When she peered up her vision was assaulted by a violently bright red shock of hair atop a stocky man. His white and black uniform bulged outward slightly around his gut, but elsewhere hung somewhat loose. He hung by one arm on the door jamb, his large brown eyes shocked and confused.

"Lookin' for Shawlong."

"What'd he do to deserve this?" The man nudged the busted door with his foot, "He's gonna be mighty pissed when he gets back..."

"Back from where?" Jesmee went immediately to the plump Arrancar's side, looming over him with a demanding glare, "C'mon, Rodolpho, talk ya lump."

"Take it easy, girl!" Rodolpho backed up into the wall, his wide mouth stretched in a placating grin from ear to ear, "He's on a watch or something. You can talk to him later."

"He ain't on a watch."

"Yeah he is."

"No, stupid, he was supposed to come an' relieve me. He didn't show."

"What? Well, then who's watching now?"

"Doesn't matter, this is weirdness going on now." She strode past him, leaving him in the whirlwind of her coat's train, "I'm gonna report this ta Lord Jeagarjaques."

"But... He's sleeping..."

"Don't care!" Jesmee growled. Rodolpho gave up on trying to stand up the broken door against the doorway and scurried to catch up with her down the central hall leading right to the great door emblazoned with a giant black "6". The closer they got, the more frantic he became.

"Er, doncha think you're overreacting?" Rodolpho let out a nervous laugh, "G-Grimmjow ain't too happy to be woken up in the middle of the night, you know... He might be a little less than accommodating... Or aware..."

"Again-_-_don't care!" Jesmee halted only for the Espada's number-printed door. She raised her fist to pound on it, "When people go missin'... Espadas gotta wake the hell up!"

_**Tonk, tonk, tonk..!**_

"Zznnn-_-what_..?" Grimmjow's head bobbed up from where it had lain on a stack of no less than four pillows. "...Gggh... Whaddya want..?"

"My Lord, we have an urgent matter that needs to be looked into!"

There was no mistaking that voice. Jesmee Iontach, the lady firebrand of his first few followers. She'd even been with him when they were still Meno-_-_ugh, that time didn't bear thinking about. Nightmares later wouldn't be great. If he even got back to sleep tonight...

"We..?!" Rodolpho mouthed the words. A look of pure shut-up from the towering woman did exactly what she wanted it to, and the fat man shuffled a few steps away.

"What's goin'... Hold on... Lemme put on some pants..."

The pair of Fracciónes waited antsily as a few odd clunks and bangs sounded from within, along with a suspiciously curse-like muttering after one of the particularly loud crashes. After a substantial wait, the door creaked open several feet and a shirtless Sexta wobbled out into the doorway, tripping on the slightly lopsided hem of his hakama.

"So what's wrong?" Grimmjow said, yanking up the edge of his pants into a more normal position. Jesmee stood firmly directly in the Sexta's face and seemed to be quietly shouting the issue into his face, with Rodolpho cringing to the side.

"Sir, Shawlong hadn't shown up for his watch time after me. We searched his room and he wasn't there."

"...Shawlong's missing...?" Grimmjow stepped back with a blink clearing away the bleariness from his face.

"Er... we also may've... broken his door a bit..." Rodolpho hoped his addition would go ignored.

It did. The Sexta opened the door further and stepped out, revealing that he was holding a crumpled shirt in his hands. He appeared to be staring into a space just to the left of Jesmee's shoulder, then he cast about to the right as well.

"Hunh...Huh..." The Espada ran a crooked hand through his spiky blue hair, clawing a bit of disobedient bangs out of his eyes, "Didn't you use Pesquisa to find him?"

"N... No sir..." She faltered for once, looking unsure, "I didn't think of that at the time..."

"You should've," Grimmjow said, his eyebrows creasing down into what looked like a fierce scowl. "Not even I can sense him... Actually..." Grimmjow's back straightened and his scowl dipped even further, "I don't sense Edorad or Ilfort or D-Roy or Nakim either..."

Jesmee was silent, tempted to check for herself but unsure of doing so in front of her Master. She trusted his Pesquisa, even while still fighting off sleep, far better than her own. Rodolpho grimaced as his shoe squeaked against the floor.

"...Wait..." Grimmjow paused, eyes half-closed, "Well... They ain't dead. I'm getting little snatches of Edorad every now and then... Unh, there was a bit of D-Roy too. They ain't dead..."

"I'm... confused... How can you not sense them all the time?"

Grimmjow answered as he passed her, crooking a hand for them to come with.

"Easy. They're almost outta my range," he said. "Which means they aren't in Hueco Mundo anywhere... Damn."

Jesmee and Rodolpho looked at each other, then hastened to catch up with their Master as he fast-walked and slung his shirt on (opened in the front as usual) at the same time.

"Well..." Rodolpho scratched his head, "'Damn' is right..."

* * *

Author's Notes: STAY TUNED-_-_THE EPIC BATTLES CONTINUE!

Oh, I just love writing fight scenes... Maybe a little too much... o____o


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